


To Go Home

by PickleDillo



Series: Margaret James' Journey [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Girl in Middle Earth, Growing up in Middle Earth, Living with Baggins', M/M, Re-Telling, Realism, Set 50 years prior to The Lonely Mountain, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn Romance, Timeline over a few decades, Turned-Dwarf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickleDillo/pseuds/PickleDillo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not really fun and games being dropped into a pre-industrial world. Maggie now has to contend not only with her new body, but also a whole world shift in cultural, language, and technology. It's one thing to dream about this kind of life, it's a completely different story actually living it. </p><p>Though, a little baby Bilbo does make this kind of life infinitely more interesting.</p><p>[ NOW WITH ART, in Chapter 7 ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happenstance

_It wasn't supposed to end this way. Her lungs pulled with the strength of a string and her throat gurgled with the weight of her blood that flooded her mouth. The ground beneath her felt ice cold and the mud grasped at her armor and tugged her further into the depths. She wasn't meant to die this way. She wasn't meant to die here. She wasn't meant to_  die, _at all!_

_She was supposed to be home. Her fingers were smashed under a thick and blackened boot. She was supposed to be home, with her cat and fish. Through the stain of gray that filtered her vision, she could see the faint glint of a dripping mace being raised above her head, her one good hand flying up to stop it._ 'As if that could stop a fifteen pound weapon. Right.'

_The least Fate could have given her was to have made it back to the Shire, with Bilbo._

'But now I won't have even that.'

_The mace came down with a roar._

* * *

"Late, late,  _late._ " She grumbled with enough venom that only served to poison her mood further. She sighed harshly through her nose and the car's door was flung open with a crack and snapped back at her with the force that remained. A grunt was all the door received before she threw herself into the driver's seat of the car and the ignition was given a violent twitch with the keys from her hand. The visor was pulled down for a moment, a quick inspection to make sure her hair was in place and her face was at least decent.

"Of all the times to be late, today was not one of them!" With a growl, the visor was flipped back up and the car shifted into gear. The road was clear and she pulled away from the curve with only the smallest of hesitations. The engine roared as she heaved a foot against the pedal and the tire yanked the road from under the car, sending her flying forward.

The four-way intersection came up quick and it was only seconds after she hit the brakes that her fingers gripped the steering wheel with new strength.

She wasn't going to stop. Didn't matter how hard she slammed her heel to the brake. She could only swallow and pray she got through the intersection unscathed. Her brown eyes flickered to her left and a small, breathless laugh escaped her throat.

_'Not so sure that truck is thinking the same thing.'_  In the span of time it took her to inhale enough air for a scream, a light flashed behind her eyes and all she could recall were her pets and the hope that someone would remember them after she was gone.

**~**

There was a distant and muffled sound of chatter that bled into her ears. The skin along the inside of her nose burned from the coating of dirt she had inhaled. Her throat was dry and her mouth gaped like a gasping fish from the water. A hand came to her shoulder and gently the fingers curled into her skin.  _'Skin?'_  Lead weights kept her eyes from flying open and she groaned with the effort to roll onto her back. ' _Did I... did I fly out of the car? Oh god.'_  The hand on her shoulder was careful and calm, the palm smoothed out over her shoulder blade and rubbed her muscles soothingly. For some odd reason, this brought tears to her eyes.

That seemed to set the weight back and now she could blink and look around her. Trees surrounded her, sunlight glittered through the canopy and several birds chirped incessantly from above. Another blink and a face swam into her vision. She could feel her brow pinch with confusion as the mop of curly hair on the woman's head was accented with pointed ears. The confusion only grew stronger when a male came up beside the woman and he, too, had pointed ears. He scratched at them lightly and then sighed and shifted to a knee to be closer. A new panic set into Margaret and she gasped and yanked her shoulder out of the woman's grasp to curl into herself.

A round of hushed chatter passed between the two who had found her and before long a cloak was thrown over Margaret's naked body. She shivered from the rough feel of wool and gasped again, a sob now mangling itself from her throat.  _'Where the hell am I?'_  A hand laced its fingers into her tangled hair and the woman cooed at her softly. Margaret clamped her mouth shut and inhaled painfully, doing what she could to control her panic. She tried to sit up and a pair of hands found purchase on the small of her back and her shoulder, lifting her and steadying her when she stuttered from pain.

The world viciously tilted one way and then another and Margaret couldn't stop herself from being suddenly sick just in front of her, nearly half of what came up from her stomach now covered her knees. The woman's hand gracefully massaged up and down Margaret's spine, a soft tone echoed in her voice and it was only then that Margaret realized she couldn't understand what the woman was saying. Confused and sick, Margaret brought a hand to her mouth to stop any more sick from coming up and her dizzying gaze desperately tried to focus on the couple that stood next to her.

_'Wait. Are they standing?'_  Her eyes flickered over the couple and another vile pump of sick nearly slipped past her fingers. Pointed ears, hairy feet, pudgy faces, and stump bodies. The curly hair on both their heads and their rosy cheeks would have almost been enough to mask the rest of it, if Margaret's weird tunnel vision hadn't focused on their stranger characteristics. They were small, bent at the waist and the woman's hand came to Margaret's forehead, a sweet and motherly smile colored her face. The woman's mouth moved, and sound was produced, but for the life of her, Margaret couldn't comprehend the words that came out.

"I'm – I'm sorry, I don't know – I don't know what you're saying." Margaret hiccuped between her fingers. Now the couple stuttered in their movements and glanced at each other. The woman's brow furrowed over her honey brown eyes and slowly, she spoke again. Still, it was nothing Margaret could understand and so she shook her head, "I still don't know... what you're saying, I'm so sorry." A shiver ran through her spine,  _'What if it isn't her? What if it's me? Did I hit my head? What's happening?'_  Margaret hadn't noticed her lungs began to hyperventilate until the woman reached forward and held her face in both of her calloused, warm hands.

The simple touch was tender and Margaret melted into the woman's palms. Tears raced down her face and the woman smiled as she thumbed them away, whispering something to her male companion. The male seemed reluctant to agree to whatever it was that the woman had asked of him, but after a firm look from his companion, he nodded and left them. Margaret watched with a hazy gaze as he trotted up the grassy hill and came to a stop near a horse-drawn cart. If she wasn't confused before, she was  _definitely_  confused now.

"Where am I?" Margaret whispered to the woman that stayed with her. "This – how did I get here?" The trees, the grassy hill and bright sunlight were nothing that she remembered. The city had surrounded her last time, with a gasoline flavored fog that blasted through her air-conditioning and a screeching truck who's blaring horn had done nothing to help the situation she had previously suffered. The woman stood back and winced as she straightened her spine and Margaret bit her lip at the sight of a very swollen belly that protruded from the woman's hips.

When her eyes came up to the woman's, there was only a smile that greeted her. A hot blush flooded Margaret's face when she turned her eyes away. Margaret pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders and tucked her folded and soiled legs closer, to hide them within the fabric. The pointed-ear man soon returned and he carried a larger piece of cloth. Gently, he stepped forward and murmured something to her, but at the shake of her head, he sighed and swung the cloth around her back to let it float down onto her shoulders and head. The woman spoke and pointed to her and her male companion nodded with a hand held out for Margaret to take, and she did so with hesitation.

She stood and her knees whined with the weight of her body and she stumbled down onto her hands and nearly kissed the ground in front of her. The couple shot forward and instantly two pairs of hands came to her shoulders, her neck, and her arms to try and steady her. Margaret swallowed, but the sick still returned and splattered against the ground and over her hands. More murmurs passed over her head and with a firm heave, the man pulled her up to her feet. Margaret swallowed a scream when she became aware of why she had stumbled.

She was shorter. Portlier. Her hips were wider and her feet felt like concrete. With a swaying head, she glanced down at her shuffling legs as the couple hoisted her between them and escorted her to their cart. Her toes were massive, but didn't appear so next to her enormous feet. Her shapely legs were gone and were replaced by thick and muscled tree trunks.  _'This isn't my body.'_  Her lungs stuttered and hiccuped, threatening to choke her into submission, into darkness.  _'What's happening? What's happening to me!'_

She had only managed to hook her fingers onto the back end of the cart before another wave of nausea flooded her system and her head came down with a crack.

**~**

"Bella, I do not believe this to be a wise choice." Bungo murmured gently with the reigns of his pony tight in his palms. Now and again his gaze would be cast back and the female dwarf's bundled form sent a renewed sense of dread through his veins. Bella's calming hand came to rest at the crook of his elbow and patted him lightly.

"I know you have fear, my love, but look at her." Bella could not turn to see the female as her belly kept her still and heavy. Instead her eyes came to her husband and she tilted her head, a tone to her words. "She was indecent and... you heard her, Bungo. That was not in any form of Westron. I do not believe that could have been her language, either. We must help her, you know this."

Bungo pursed his lips and flicked the rope in his hands. "I know what you say is true, I only fear... what could have left her like that? You saw her face, something... it looked as though she had been beaten."

"Even more of a reason that we must give her aid, my love." Belladonna kept her voice light and her words easy, but she too felt the distress that coursed through her husband. "She was scared, you could see that in her eyes. She is lost. We shall take her home, let her rest and find her aid. Perhaps then we can figure out what has happened to her."

"Of course, dear. I suppose there is no sense in changing your mind, the dear probably would not have anywhere else to go." Bungo agreed and with a quick whistle to the pony, the cart rolled along at a quicker pace, back toward the Shire.


	2. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maggie comes to terms with her new situation, hesitantly.

When Margaret felt herself become aware of her surroundings, it was with a jerky surprise to find that she was wrapped snuggly in a mound of blankets and secured over a feather-stuffed bed. _‘Who uses those anymore?’_ Slowly she shifted her hips and winced tightly as a hot pain shot up her back and into the base of her skull. She shuddered and exhaled when she realized her lungs had frozen up with pain. A soft creak came from her right and she blinked to clear her vision. A shadowy figure passed into the room and before it reached the bed the figure morphed into the woman she had seen before.

“Where am I?” Margaret tried and her voice cracked dustily. The woman paused in her step and for a moment, Margaret felt relief at being understood. Not that it mattered, because soon after the woman replied and once more, it was in a language Margaret couldn’t hope to understand. A frustrated groan left her and she shifted in bed to bring herself up against the headboard. The woman came forward and with a firm hand she helped Margaret up to settle comfortably in place.

A mug of tea was placed into her hands. _‘The hell?’_ Margaret brought the mug up to her face and sniffed at it experimentally. The herbs were strong and wafted straight through her nose to her stomach, leaving her mouth to water as her hands brought the mug to her lips for a small sip. The liquid burnt her tongue, but it was substantial enough to root her mind back to the present and out of her clouded thoughts. A spark of cold dread went through her bones and her hands began to shake. Immediately, the woman pulled the mug away from her and brought a short hand to Margaret’s forehead, feeling for a fever. The woman murmured gently and her fingers glided down under Margaret’s chin to lift it up. 

Margaret gasped for air, inhaling it out of greed and her head whirled. _‘I remember. She found me, but where am I? What happened? Who is she? Who – and,’_ another wave of panic gripped her throat and she felt a scream bubble up from her gut. The woman proved faster than Margaret’s terror and shook out her shoulders, her voice clear and stern. _‘Probably telling me – to get a grip. Shit, Maggie, get a fuckin’ grip.’_   Margaret held her breath and nodded her head at the woman; her thick hands came up and gripped the other woman’s forearms.

_‘Wait.’_

Alarmed, Margaret’s gaze shot down to where her hands were, or at least, _should_ have been. Instead, thick protrusions replaced her fingers. Short and pudgy with heavy knuckles and gnawed out nails. Her arms were bare and scratched; a few dozen bruises now littered her skin almost as much as her freckles did. Sensing her confusion, the woman leaned against the bed and sat down, calling to her. Margaret released her and tugged on the blanket, nearly dislodging the very pregnant portly female in her hurry. Once removed from her seat, the woman stood back and folded her hands over her mouth, worry colored her face.

_‘No, no, no! What is this?!’_ Margaret tossed her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at them, wide eyed and dizzy. Her borrowed hands felt over her bare and knotted knees and she could feel the muscles twitch both inside and out. She stood and almost stumbled into the woman as they both stepped forward, one to help and the other out of fear. Margaret took a hold of the woman’s shoulders and gave her a slight shake.

“What’s happened to me? What am I?” Margaret cried. She let go and spun around the bed in search of a mirror, a glass, _anything_ to tell her the truth. There in the cozy corner of the bedroom she was in stood a long and thin polished mirror. Tripping over her ankles, Margaret caught the edge of the vanity mirror with her clumsy hands and peered into it.

A dumpy creature stood in front of the mirror. There was barely anything there that Margaret could see of herself in the thing. Her brown eyes remained, with the strange tilt to their edges that made her look angry when she wasn’t, and her copper stained, muddy strands were loose and tangled down along her face and far lower to the small of her back.

“What…” A hand came up to the creature’s face and the image gasped. Past the bruising and the welt that took up half of her forehead, the face was filled with heavy bones and a stern expression. Her cheekbones were dense and her chin far stronger than she remembered it being, even her nose came out just enough to be seen without crossing her eyes. Gone was her fair freckled face and it was replaced with a boulder carved by an amateur. “Oh my God, you’re joking… what is this? What is this, seriously!” She stepped closer to the mirror and her gaze flickered over the surface, unbelieving.

The female in the image stood at no bigger than four feet or so, with a broad set of shoulders and an even broader set of hips. Her core was too close to the ground and her center of balance was nothing more than a spinning top about to lose its momentum. Margaret turned her face and another gash lined her sideburn and wiggled toward her jaw. Margaret blinked and glanced at the side of her face again, but her eyes soon closed and she shuddered to breathe painfully. _‘Why in God’s good name do I have_ sideburns? _’_ Her hair appeared grown out and waved from the base of her ear and trickled toward her waist, but that wasn’t the horrific part, oh no.

The edge of her jaw near the back where the bone met her throat, a small field of hair was there and it looked to her like the beginnings of a beard. _‘Oh, no, no, hell no!’_ Margaret tugged at the small patch of _fur_ there and whined silently in the back of her throat. She jumped out of her skin when the woman’s hand rested on her shoulder and her lovely face appeared next to Margaret’s – _the creature’s_ – upper arm. The woman soothed her with incomprehensible words and rubbed a tender palm against Margaret’s back. 

Fresh tears pooled at the corner of her eyes and Margaret couldn’t force the strength to stand back into her legs. She dropped and rolled onto the ground like a bag of potatoes.  
 _“Bella? Belladona, is she ill?”_ Belladonna looked over to her husband who stood at the entrance of the bedroom, his manners keeping him at bay in the presence of an unclothed female. Belladonna sighed and gently knelt next to the fallen dwarf and shook her head.

_“I do not know. I do not know if it was the sight of her injuries, or… or something else.”_ Belladonna waved to her husband, _“Fetch me some of my newer clothes. They may yet be large enough for her to wear._ ” Hastily, Bungo nodded and removed himself with a sharp turn and retreated into the hallway. Belladonna returned her attention to the dwarf that had curled up on the guest bedroom’s floor. She grimaced and brushed a handful of hair away from the girl’s face. _“Oh, my dear, how I wish I could know your mind. Your words mean nothing to me. I wish I knew what I could do for you.”_

Margaret felt her depression deepen as the couple conversed behind her curled form and anger settled in the dark parts of her stomach. “What’s going _on_ , please! I just… I want to go home! How did I get here, please… just let me go…” She knew it didn’t matter what she said, though, as the couple either truly couldn’t understand her, or had chosen to ignore her. Both notions brought more hot and frustrated tears to stream over the bridge of her nose and onto the ground she collapsed on, curled into the tightest ball she could manage with her new and hulking body. Good God, even her breasts were being a menace to her now of all times, giant lumps of stone that they had turned into! The pattering of feet came to her ears and the quick chatter of the couple was her only warning before the woman with the pointed ears tried to turn her onto her back.

For a brief and childish moment, Margaret stiffened and held herself in place, but the woman was going to have no more of her nonsense, it seemed, and tightened her tiny fist into Margaret’s shoulder and _pulled._ Margaret relented more out of surprise at the sheer force the woman seemed to have rather than any politeness that finally graced her.  She swallowed forcefully and blinked through her tears. The woman’s lips were pressed into a mother’s frown and the man behind her huddled close by with his hands fiddling at his sides.

A dress was placed into her vision and the woman commanded something with a small shake of her fist that held the dress. Margaret glanced between the woman and the dress and thought better of fighting her over it. _‘She’s pregnant, you rude asshole. Stand your ass up and mind your goddamn emotions.’_ Margaret coughed into her arm and rolled onto her rear-end before shakily taking a stand on feet-far-too-big. A small smile graced the woman’s face and Margaret took a weird notice at how her pointed ears twitched. If her situation hadn’t been so dire or horrifying, the action would have been strangely endearing.

“I’ll… I’ll wear the dress, I’m sorry.” Margaret sniffed and took the clothing in her hands. The woman’s smile turned sweet and she turned to tap the man’s chest and pointed out the door. The man whose eyes had been riveted to the floor since Margaret had stood up, nodded and scooted along his heels to leave them in the room. Margaret felt her eyes go wide again when she spotted the hairy tops of enormous feet.  “I guess I’m not the only one, then. That’s good, right?” She turned to the woman and at the woman’s confused smile; she sighed sadly and remembered, “right, communication issue. Goddamn it.”

The woman held out her hands and cooed some soft words to Margaret in an attempt to coax her. Margaret sighed heavily and turned the cloth over in her hands, “This… this may not fit me, you know?” She _knew_ the pointed-eared woman couldn’t understand a lick of what she was saying, but it was better than the silence between them. The woman gently herded Margaret toward the bed and cajoled her into the dress. Margaret grunted softly as the wide dress came over her head and settled on her shoulders. There was a giggle off to her right and Margaret glanced up in time to see an amused glitter pass through the woman’s bright eyes before she hid it all behind a slender hand.

Margaret glanced down at herself and in the spur of such a moment, she chuckled in despite of her tear-stained face. She tugged at the sides of the dress and turned to the woman, giggling just as haltingly. “Yeah… I look, I look pretty fuckin’ ridiculous, don’t I?” The words felt good against her tongue and it gave Margaret a second to come down from her panic and fear. Margaret shook out her head and furiously rubbed her palms over her face as she turned and dropped onto the mattress. The poor bed squeaked and gave a small crack and for one disturbed moment, Margaret feared the thing would collapse. A second passed and she spared a glance at the woman, still stutteringly scared of breaking the bed.

The woman could only burst into laughter at the sight of Margaret’s face.

…

The rest of the week was spent in completely frustration, both for her hosts and herself. Margaret had taken two days of rest before she managed to stand on her feet without swaying comically or skipping straight into a tumble and smashing her skull into a wall, or the floor, or on the rare occasion when she made it that far; the door. Communication was still at a null and void stage between her and the couple that housed her, but she managed. The woman and her could trade hand gestures such as ‘food’ or ‘water’ (which resulted in hot tea more often than not), as well as ‘bath’ and ‘help.’ Beyond those flimsy attempts, though, Margaret was left to have conversations with no one else but herself.

_‘Which probably makes me seem right fuckin’ crazy.’_

When she _did_ manage to leave the bedroom, she was in desperate need of the bathroom and a faltering half-charade passed between her and the man of the house. The woman picked up sooner than her partner and led Margaret to the bathroom. A deep, stone tub sat in the middle of the room and was surrounded by fluffy towels and a basin for smaller washing needs. It had all been very confusing and Margaret was left to wonder if she had honestly just died in that car-crash, or flat-out abducted by a weird occultist couple in a compound.

She very nearly believed the last part when she stepped outside for the first time since waking up. The shades of the grass that rolled along the tops of the hills were damn near painful to look at, and she held a hand to her eyes most of the time while she followed being the woman. She fumbled along in her trot like a six-year-old child and held onto the basket she was given with a death grip. Her new body was atrociously hard to control and every few minutes Margaret found herself bouncing into things and knocking them over, much to the dismay of her hostess and her passing neighbors.

The first order of business for the week had been clothing. As much as she appreciated the generosity of her hostess, Margaret couldn’t stand how bloated she felt in the dress that was an _inch_ or two too small for her tank of a body. None of the other dresses worked, either, because it didn’t matter how pregnant her hostess was, it didn’t compare to the girth that Margaret now sported. At least she was able to make the mother-to-be laugh outright by imitating a bulging stomach and sore back. Small blessings, to be sure.

It was with this, though, that Margaret felt the first stirrings of alienation. Though her hostess was kind and lovingly sweet, her husband seem to stand truer to the feelings of the public, or at the very least, the immediate community that surrounded their home. The woman’s husband was painfully polite and almost obnoxiously patient with his partner’s quirks and pet projects (for example, Margaret’s care and nursing), but that was usually as far as his good nature and humor extended. He wasn’t outright rude to Margaret, but he didn’t go out of his way to be friendly, either.

Their neighbors proved to be quite the same in cloth, if not color. Margaret found she bowed her head more and turned her gaze away quicker when she was in the market with her hostess. She was taller than all of them, by half a foot or more depending, and it pained her to hear the scoff or snuffing of their noses whenever she came along with the other woman to the market. By the end of the week, Margaret had had enough of the xenophobia and remained indoors more often when she could, but even then she was confined to the guest room.

The second week came along and her hostess grew worried, Margaret knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room. The world outside the door had proven to be far too much too soon, and so she hid.

…

“You say you found her?” Gandalf inquired lightly. He shifted gently in the chair and fiddle with the cup of tea Belladonna had given him to drink. The young couple sat before him and on their shoulders he could see the weight of concern and confusion that drained their strength. Despite the summer sun that poured in from outside, the mood of the home was dank and dark.

“Aye, she was lying out beside the road halfway from Bree when we found her.” Belladonna answered softly. Her fingers tightened around her mug and she fought against the need to grit her teeth. She could see that her husband’s jaw was edged and it shifted with a small click. Belladonna shook her head and sighed, “She… appeared mangled, Gandalf. When I saw her, I feared she had been set upon by wolves and left for dead.”

“That does, indeed, sound very upsetting. And you stopped for her?” Gandalf pressed with his bushy brow raised in curiosity. Though Belladonna seemed more earnest in her care for the newest addition to her home, Gandalf knew that Bungo was equally worried. It was in the pinch of his mouth and the twitch of his feet.

“Yes,” Bungo answered now with a firm grip on his armrest, “we couldn’t very well just leave her, even if she had been…” He waved his hand vaguely but did not utter the word. He grumbled and kept his gaze at the tip of Gandalf’s beard. “She awoke when my wife had made it down the hill, and I believe her confusion won out. She was frantic at the sight of us.”

“Indeed?” Gandalf peered toward the exit of the living area, toward the hall that led to the guest room.

Belladonna’s gaze flickered to follow Gandalf’s for a brief second, “We couldn’t speak to each other. She… I do not know if it is the injury on her head, or perhaps a deeper fear, but the words that she does seem to say…” Belladonna shared a look with her husband and Bungo cleared his throat with a exasperated shake of his head.

“They just sound like gibberish.” Bungo finished quietly. “Not in the sense of a child trying to emulate conversation, but rather with the intelligence of any adult. _She_ knows what she speaks, Gandalf, _we_ are failing to understand her. Or it is the other way around.”

“Have you tried asking her to write for you? Or suppose another form of communicating?” Gandalf questioned. His brow furrowed deeply over his eyes when Bungo and Belladonna both shook their heads. Perhaps there was hope yet.

“We do not even know her name, Gandalf.” Belladonna spoke sadly. She placed her mug away on a small table beside her and stood. “We attempted to, perhaps, jog some sense of memory or other by taking her out and allowing her to see the land, but she only grew more fearful and withdrew…” Belladonna gestured behind her toward the hallway. Her voice fluttered with worry when she turned back to Gandalf, “I only meant to help her, Gandalf, not harm her further.”

“Hush, my dear friend, hush now.” Gandalf stood and hunched over with a hand to Belladonna’s slender shoulder. “I shall see to your guest and find an answer to this mystery of yours. She is a dwarf, you say?”

Belladonna nodded once, “Aye, but even that seemed to surprise her. She was alarmed by her appearance. I thought at first it was her injuries, but she looks upon her hands and feet, those uninjured, with dismay.” Belladonna’s hands rested on her swollen stomach and caressed the top absently. Gandalf nodded and bowed out of the living room to head toward the guest room.

Now more than ever, he wished to see this guest of theirs. The hallway took a winding turn deeper into the hill and the sunlight could not quite reach the end, but the candles flickered happily as he passed them. He found the door to the guest bedroom and knocked once, twice, and then waited. He could hear her from within, shifting and padding to the doorway. He stepped back and remained hunched, awaiting her appearance. There was a heartbeat’s moment before the door knob was turned and the door whined open.

She was stout and sturdy, as were all her kind. Her shoulders dipped from her neck in a feminine slope not found in the males and her squared chin rose to bring her earthy eyes to his face. He offered her a smile and after a hesitation, she returned it. Her hair was at a great length and pulled tightly back in a messy tail, contained by two leather strips. She wore a long and patterned dress, but from the shift of her feet and the cast away gaze, she felt uncomfortable.

“Hello, my dear.” He greeted her. The female dwarf raised her gaze back up to his face and in her eyes; he could see her acknowledgement and her intelligence. She understood his meaning, it seemed, for her low voice parroted his greeting in her language, but his words held no meaning for her. He sighed and gestured with an open palm to be allowed inside.

In this, she did not hesitate and stepped back with the door still in her hand to allow him entry. He shuffled inside, mindful of his cloak, and soon found a chair set up close to a darkened and quieted fireplace. He groaned as he sat and the female came toward him, her hands worrying together in front of her. She asked something of him but cut herself short and bit her bottom lip, her eyes closed in dispirited patience. He pointed to the bed and she sat with her face now colored in a blush, either embarrassed or relieved, he wasn’t sure.

“Let us begin simply, shall we?” Gandalf murmured to her. The woman jerked her gaze up to his face at the sound of his voice and frowned with a tilt of her head. She shook her head heavily and with exasperation, spoke with a rapid breath. Perhaps she was explaining that she could not understand him, perhaps it was asking him to keep silent, in the end, it was only a low rumble of her voice.

Gandalf leaned forward in his chair and pointed to himself, “Gandalf.” Then, with a heavy hand, he moved his fingers toward her and pointed, waiting a few seconds before returning his hand to his chest and repeating his name. A spark appeared in the depths of her eyes and their dullness faded. She grinned and sat forward on her bed, her hand at the base of her throat.

_“Marrgret.”_ She replied with an eager face. She swallowed and paused and he could see that his name rolled in the back of her throat as she tested the sound. She nodded to herself and focused on his gaze, her lips slowly forming his name. _“Gaanelf.”_

“Such strange pronunciations, my child, truly. Marrgret?” He asked, his fingers laced together to rest on his lap. The dwarf shook her head and pressed her lips against her tongue, concentrating.

She sighed and crossed her index fingers, using them to show the beats in her name. _“Maar. Gaar. Ret.”_ The sounds were strange, but he could bring himself to pronounce them well enough. He murmured her name two or three times under his tongue before smiling at her.

“Margaret?” The smile that overcame her face set a beauty to her features that was hidden beneath her heavy bones and frowning lips. He chuckled deeply and steeped his fingers before his face. “Good, very good. Let us attempt mine once more. _Gan. Dalf._ Try, child.”

The smile on her face flickered, but the corners of her mouth twisted with determination and he could see the hope flare up in the back of her eyes. _“Gandalf?_ ”  He nodded his head and a wave of relief seemed to take a hold of her, so fiercely in fact, that she sprung from the bed and stumbled forward to wrap her arms around him. The hug was intense and Gandalf had quite forgotten how powerful dwarves could be, even unwittingly.

“It is a start, Margaret.” Gandalf soothed into her hair as he felt her body shake with silent gasps. He would not go looking for tears; he could only imagine the fear and loneliness that plagued her. Gandalf gently caressed her shoulders and rocked her gently, giving comfort to the young dwarf.

“It’s a very good start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the first two chapters are a bit rushed, but hopefully the third one will start setting the pace, and we can really get started!


	3. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maggie learns that the world is much bigger than she previously thought.

Her scribbling was strange, that much was certain. Gandalf hadn't been entirely sure whether it was her head injury that had erased her memories and knowledge, or perhaps some deeper issue. He had managed to persuade her to leave the guest room and follow him into the living area where Belladonna and Bungo remained. Belladonna had smiled widely at the sight of the young dwarf and Gandalf was pleased to see that it only brought a sense of comfort to the young creature, rather than fear.

He eventually moved her to a desk and gently prodded Bungo to release some of his parchment and a quill. Though not necessarily rare to acquire, the materials were precious commodities that shouldn’t be squandered at a whim. Even so, at his request, the hobbit fetched a short piece of parchment and a well-used quill and inkpot for the young dwarf to use. She had stared at him, a singular eyebrow raised in question, and Gandalf gently instructed her to write for him, as best she could.

She was unfamiliar with the use of a quill, he noticed at first glance. Her fingers fumbled with the delicate tool and twice she nearly toppled the inkpot onto her lap or over the desk. Her frustration mounted easily and she had very little patience for the tools given to her, but once more her lips pinched with resolve and she set her hand to work. It was a lengthy half within the hour before she managed to control her fingers and set the quill’s tip to the parchment.

Patches of parchment were stained with blots of ink and her writing was shaky. He could not yet tell if it was her hands that she found cumbersome or the parchment, but she marched on and soon her hand unsteadily produced her words. The rest of the hour she spent writing away and he peered over her shoulder once or twice, much to her dismay, and the letters he found quite odd.

“What is that, Gandalf?” Belladonna question as she stood within the archway of her kitchen. She had taken to passing by now and again, leaving a cup of tea for both himself and the young dwarf, and had spied upon the young female’s writing. “That language is not familiar to me, and I have read quite a bit!”

The young dwarf’s gaze flickered up to Belladonna, curiosity in her eyes, but she continued to write, her hand becoming stronger with every word. Gandalf shook his head, “No, my dear woman, it is not a language that we possess.”

“Could it be…” Bungo interrupted, “I do not know… perhaps just gibberish? Perhaps her mind is muddled and she now forgets her words?”

Gandalf shook his head again, “No, Bungo Baggins. I do not believe that she forgets herself. I see a pattern in her strange symbols. They repeat, and consistently. She is writing in a language she knows.” Abruptly, the dwarf sighed heavily and set down her quill. Her heavy head turned and she muttered to them, her brow furrowed over her nose and her bottom lip protruding. He could not make her words, but he understood their meaning of _must you speak of me as if I am absent?_

“I do apologize, my good woman.” Gandalf bowed his head and shifted in his chair to be closer to her desk. “I, we, did not mean to offend. Please, do continue.” He reached out and tapped at her parchment to try and prompt her into continuing. The dwarf gave him a sour look and huffed, but returned to her writing. Gandalf chuckled and stood from his chair to move toward the kitchen. Hastily, Bungo removed a few of the dishes from the table and made room for the wizard.

“What shall we do, Gandalf?” Belladonna questioned him once he was seated. Her swollen belly gave little in the way of space, but she made due and sat as close to the dining table as she was able. Bungo placed a cup of warm milk next to his wife’s elbow and soon took a seat next to her, his eyes sharp with worry.

“I do not rightly know at the moment.” Gandalf pondered. “I could, I suppose, take her to Rivendell and ask for any guidance Lord Elrond could spare. Perhaps he would be better equipped to assess her mind and give her some relief.”

“Would that be wise, though?” Belladonna pressed on, her lovely expression now coming down stern. “She is a dwarf, she may not remember much, but what if she does remember the bitterness that lies between her kin and the elves?”

“I do not think she does, remember, I mean.” The wizard shook his head and tapped the table under his fingers. “Dwarves are a secretive and selective folk. They do not trust easily, nor are they willing to share their weaknesses or shortcomings with the public.” He glanced over his shoulder and found that the female dwarf had stopped in her writing, her gaze now to them and her head tilted in her curiosity. “She acts as though she were kindred of Men or Elf, rather than a Dwarf.”

“What are you saying, Gandalf?” Bungo drew the wizard’s attention back to their bubble in the kitchen. “Are we mistaken? Is she not a dwarf?”

“That I cannot answer, her body is of a dwarf, and that we can all plainly see, but her mind? No. Her mind feels different, it is strange and harrowing. I am beginning to doubt that her blow to the head has caused this.” Gandalf quieted as the heavy footsteps of their silent companion approached. A shadow passed over his shoulder and before him the dwarf placed her parchment. The length of it was filled with her words, the beginning looked as if a child had started, but toward the bottom there was only the strength of a steady and intelligent hand, only hindered by her tools.

“Look at this,” Gandalf said wondrously, “A full length of a letter, and I believe she may have only stopped due to the length of the parchment.

“But we do not know what is says!” Bungo huffed with some annoyance. “What are we to do with that?”

“Perhaps we can teach her?” Belladonna suggested. She reached over and Gandalf happily allowed her to take the parchment from him. Belladonna’s gaze swooped over the writing and she hummed thoughtfully, a curled finger to her chin. “Perhaps we can find some common ground. It is not hard to teach our small ones to speak… what is to say we cannot do so with her?”

The dwarf woman said something in a clipped tone and with a turn of her heel, slipped back into the living area and flopped down into her previous seat, her broad back to them. The chair creaked with worry under her weight and the soft mutterings of anger could be heard from within the room. Gandalf chuckled almost to himself, “That, there, also gives me reason to believe she may not be wholly comfortable in her body. I know dwarves to be powerful and unruly in their actions, but she stumbles about recklessly.”

“She’s upset. I cannot blame her. You said there have been no calls for missing dwarves from the Blue Mountains?” Belladonna lowered the pitch of her voice. She felt that part of the dwarf’s depression had come from their conversation and her inability to participate with them.

“No, none that I have heard.” Gandalf answered just as softly. “When I received your letter, I made inquiries, but no caravans have been lost, no travelers or groups have gone missing. I fear she is alone, for now.”

Belladonna seemed to rear up like a snake poised to bite, “She is _not_ alone! We are here.” Bungo made a strangled noise in his throat and his wife turned to him with a pained look. “My love, please, I know this is not proper or appropriate, especially with our child on the way… but we cannot turn her away. We found her… we must take up our responsibility for her.”

Gandalf felt a swell of pride and love for his old friend, “Indeed, you may be right, Belladonna. She has nowhere else to go, and I fear taking her to travel to Imladris would be terribly irresponsible of me. Her anxieties at the moment are too great. She shall remain here, and when she is stable, I shall take her with me to Lord Elrond and his wisdom.”

…

_‘I like how they’re treating me like I can’t hear them now, either.’_ Margaret drummed her dense fingers against the desk and sighed. She could still hear their soft conversation, even over the shrill call of the birds outside and the sudden eruption of laughter from passing children. She glanced back toward the kitchen, but the other three were in a deep and hurried conversation. They wouldn’t pay her any attention and she stood from the desk with a slight squeak from the chair. A single glance back told her that the others were still in conversation and she moved toward the window.

Her eyes watered as the light became too bright and the colors bled into her vision. Tears collected at the edges of her eyes and she winced with a hand that came up to rub at the soreness that assaulted her eyeballs. _‘What’s wrong with my eyes? Why does everything look so saturated?’_ She blinked away some of the water and felt a tear or two go down her cheek, but she wiped it away absently. She leaned her forehead against the window and sighed. _‘I want to go home. I don’t even know where the hell I am, but I’ll walk to the edges of wherever the fuck it is just to… to what?’_

A thick swallow lodged in her throat and she glanced down with her gaze and followed the wooden grain of the windowsill. _‘Where am I supposed to go? This could be anywhere… and how did I even get here from my home city? There’s nothing like this even remotely nearby.’_ She entertained the vague and thoughtful theory that she may have died and this was a weird sort of heaven (or hell, perhaps?) but her body ached far too frequently and her pain was not torturous, just bothersome and fleetingly.

She brought a hand to rest on the window’s ledge and she sighed as she turned the limb over and over. _‘And what’s wrong with me? Why do I look like this? Couldn’t I have at least looked like them?’_ Her muddy gaze flickered over toward the kitchen, to the small creatures that were her new hosts. _‘That would have made this somewhat easier… now I’m just a fuckin’ freak of nature. I feel like a beached whale, goddamn.’_ Her gaze came up again at the sound of shuffled footsteps and the old man was making his way toward her.  Hastily, Margaret bumbled about around the edge of her desk and thumped into her desk chair with a creak of wood.

The old man spoke to her once he had taken a seat across from her, the two other pointed-eared creatures just behind him. The man’s lips were tight on his face and his chin quivered, but his wife stood with a rod through her spine and a fierce light in her eyes and Margaret feared the determination behind that gaze. The old man handed her letter back to her and Margaret couldn't stop the snort that escaped her, _‘go figure he wouldn’t be able to read it. There goes that hope.’_ Listlessly, she tossed the paper onto the desk and watched as it twirled before landing. The old man huffed at her and his voice turned lecturing.

Margaret blinked and shrunk into her shoulders slight before she took up the piece of paper again. _‘Alright, that was clearly not what I was supposed to do, shit.’_ Instead, the woman came around and Margaret instantly felt herself shrink as the orbit of the woman’s stomach was within range of her personal bubble. Margaret’s gaze found the woman’s face and there was a smile that greeted her.

“ _Bell. A. Dunna.”_ The woman announced with a thumb to her chest. Margaret blinked absently for a few seconds before she flailed in realization. ‘ _She’s giving you her name, idiot!’_

“Margaret!” She replied stupidly, a few seconds too late and with a frog’s yodel for her volume. “Ah, shit that was loud, sorry. Ahem.” Margaret coughed and cleared her throat with a swallow before she tried again, this time with her voice much softer and less like a wailing amphibian. “ _Margaret._ Bell… Belladonna?”

The woman beamed and nodded before shooting off into a verbal slur of something or other that was too fast and too much gibberish for Margaret to understand. With a laugh, Margaret held up her hands and waved them frantically, “Woah! Woah, easy, one… one word at a time. Hand gestures, c’mon, woman.” She laughed again and flickered her fingers between them, “Cut me some slack here, a’right?”

The man said something from behind Belladonna and it brought a spark of twisted sarcasm to Belladonna’s face. It was such an odd expression, a set of exasperation that furrowed her brows and made her lips tick into half a grimace and smile. Margaret could only laugh at the sight. The woman, Belladonna, now muttered something and her gaze was focused on Margaret, an eyebrow raised and a hand on her hip.

_‘… She’s joking with me.’_ Even though she couldn’t possibly know what the woman – _Belladonna_ – had been saying, the fact that she had tried to include Margaret on the joke had been touching enough to spring tears into her eyes. Margaret gave her a watery and shuddering smile and shrugged her shoulders with her hands out, “Sorry, lady friend, I’ve got nothing for you.”

Belladonna rolled her eyes and smacked the side of Margaret’s head, laughing.

…

_Westron._ That’s what Belladonna said the language was, or what most called it in their part of the world. It had been a long and grueling month, with Belladonna being an almost unbearably unforgiving teacher. The start had been small, with Belladonna repeating words for things Margaret asked for, looked at, or picked up. The woman absolutely refused to speak to Margaret unless a phrase or a word was repeated first, and only correctly. Multiple times throughout the first month Margaret found their arguments at toe’s end with the smaller woman, annoyed and frustrated at the hard pushing and shoving to learn the language.

“You know this is just ridiculous, you hormonal – augh, _what!_ ” Margaret growled when she noticed Belladonna had once again gone blank in the face and raised an eyebrow at her. “ _What_ now, honestly?” The garden around them seemed to giggle in the summer’s breeze and a few leaves fluttered between them, as if to ease the impending spitting match.

“ _Again._ ” Belladonna repeated in Westron, one of the few words Margaret knew with painful familiarity. Her garden work was left forgotten in her lap and the tomatoes were just about to roll out from her hands. Belladonna’s belly took up most of her laugh and the sight of rolling tomatoes would have been comical, if not for Margaret’s frustration.

Margaret snorted and repeated through gritted teeth. “ _What. Is. You. Want._ ”

“ _No._ ” Belladonna reprimanded. “ _Yes, what would you like?_ ”

“I don’t know any of those words, you crazy lady!” Margaret snapped with a hand to her forehead. “God Almighty, just strike me down, _please_ , for the love of your own son.” Belladonna cleared her throat and raised not one, but both of her eyebrows at Margaret. With a heavy sigh and a toss of her head to jab her chin into her collarbone, Margaret replied with a grumble and repeated Belladonna’s punctuation and pronouncement.

“ _Good._ ” Belladonna replied with a smile and her hands reached out for the tomatoes. “ _Yes, what would you like._ ”

“ _Yes,_ _Belladonna, what… would you like. Like?_ ” Margaret questioned with a thick voice, tired and frustrated with her lack of any real progress. Belladonna nodded again with her hands cupped around the ripe tomatoes that had made for a quick escape.

“ _Please,_ ” Belladonna continued slowly with a finger pointed at a small shovel next to Margaret, “ _may you hand me the shovel?_ ” Though to Margaret, the sentence had sounded more along the lines of ‘please, may, hand, something-something’ but she could understand the general gist of what Belladonna had been asking for and quickly retrieved the small hand-tool for the woman.

They worked peacefully in the garden, side by side and sharing the tools between them. It was the first time in a month and a half since her unexpected arrival into _The Shire_ (Belladonna had struggled to teach her that string of words) that she had been outside for more than an hour or two. Their neighbors were well down the row from them, so it gave Margaret some sense of privacy while outside.

Her lessons weren’t easy. Throughout the day Belladonna would drill her on singular words, items around the house and the like. In the evening, Bungo would assist so that his wife could rest with her swollen belly. He had focused more on verbs and adjectives, but Margaret was well past English 101 mentality, and the lessons would leave her with stinging headaches.

“ _Margaret._ ” Belladonna interrupted her thoughts. Margaret’s head shot up at her name and she blinked from the slight blur it caused to her vision. She inclined her head and glanced around Belladonna, but could see nothing to indicate the woman had asked her for something.

“ _Yes… ma’am?_ ” Margaret replied with the tiniest bit of confusion.

“ _Gandalf will be visiting again today._ ” Belladonna smiled lightly and sighed. “ _Today or tomorrow, I believe he wishes to take you to Rivendell._ ”

Margaret blinked again, confused mightily. “ _To-day or… or after? Is where?_ ” She had only managed a small fraction of Belladonna’s words, that the old man (or wizard, the hobbits called him, of all things) was arriving at some point, but the rest of it was lost to the wind. _‘He’s going where with what? What?’_

Belladonna bit her lip, _“Gandalf. Will take you. To see the elves._ ”

“Now you’re shitting me,” Margaret grumbled, “Wizards and hobbits… dwarves, you tell me, and now elves? No. _No_ , fuck that. That shit ends here.” Margaret huffed and swiped at the tools that sat in her lap. Angrily, she ripped herself up from the ground and growled as she nearly tripped down as her bare feet snagged on her skirt.

“ _Margaret,_ ” Belladonna tried to soothe her, but Margaret snapped at her before she could continue, a finger held up accusingly and her eyes narrowed on the pregnant woman as she regained her footing and stood like a tower over the smaller female.

“ _No_ , _Belladonna._ ” Margaret hissed. “ _Enough. I is enough. No more. No more… not truth!”_

“ _Lies._ ” Belladonna supplied her with a tight voice. The older woman had her lips pressed tightly into a pale line across her face and Margaret was certain the only reason the woman was not up and in her face was because of her stomach that sank her like a stone. “ _I am not lying to you, child._ ”

“ _Yes you is!_ ” God, Margaret hissed to herself in the back of her mind, she must have sounded like a damn barbarian with the way her words slurred and crashed together. None of her sentences came with the fluidity and practice that Belladonna spoke with, none of them held the same grace or slender taste on the tongue. It only served to infuriate her.

“ _Why would you think I’m lying to you?_ ” Belladonna questioned her. All the good it did, Margaret could still only catch every other word, and even then only if it was a simple adjective or verb. ‘Why-you-think-lying-you’ sounded more accurate to Margaret’s muddled brain.

“ _Elves!_ ” Margaret nearly shouted. She could hear the door as it opened from the front of the house. She was probably loud enough for Bungo to grow concerned. The idea that he was worried for his little wife forced Margaret to wrap up her anger and she hauled it in with a struggle. Why was her temper so volatile? ‘ _I wasn’t this aggressive back home, even on the debate team, I still controlled my temper!_ ’

Belladonna was still seated in front of her and the woman held her chin high and her hands folded in her lap. The small creature looked to be fearless, but Margaret knew better. Belladonna had warned her when they first started communicating that Margaret’s new body was far stronger than any strength a hobbit could possibly muster.

Margaret felt her gaze shift down to Belladonna’s belly, the female had one hand wrapped along the underside of her stomach and never shifted under Margaret’s stare. Shame struck her, then, and Margaret could feel icy fingers curl over her neck and she shuddered. She bowed her head and murmured sadly to Belladonna, “ _I sorry. No pain. No hurt. I is angry, Belladonna._ ”

“ _I know you are, my dear._ ” Belladonna gave her the smallest of smiles and held up a hand when Bungo stepped in behind Margaret. The hobbit stopped, but his hands were wrapped tightly together and twisted hard enough to turn his palms red. “ _Help me, Margaret._ ”

Instantly, Margaret held out her hands to take Belladonna’s, “Maggie. _Mag. Gee._ ”

“ _Help me, Maggie._ ”

…

“You say she’s been temperamental?” Gandalf asked quietly so as not to disturb Bungo in his lesson with their dwarf charge. Belladonna sipped at her drink carefully, her eyes elsewhere in the living area, the only indication he had that his friend was taking consideration with her words.

“Not necessarily. Yes, she has a temper, but she isn’t completely… unruly.” Belladonna explained politely. She settled her cup of tea on the sauce that rested at the top of her belly and she sighed. “She confused. She’s mentioned several times that she’s unfamiliar with… things.”

“What things, my dear?” Gandalf pressed gently. He had hoped that the young dwarf’s strange mannerisms would have made her a unique and palatable house guest to the hobbits. Her qualities appeared nothing like those of her kin, but to listen to his friend now, it seemed the dwarf was, indeed, a dwarf.

Belladonna shrugged lightly. “She’s unfamiliar with the races, Gandalf. It was a shock to her to know that there were others who looked like her. She found the concept of hobbits strange, and when I mentioned _elves_ , well, she nearly had a fit right outside in the garden.” The mother-to-be had her gaze focused on the glittering light of the fireplace before them and there was a short laugh that came from Bungo in the kitchen as the young dwarf cheered over something.

“But,” Belladonna smiled over her shoulder, “for all that bothers her, she has been a most charming and honest companion.” Belladonna turned back to Gandalf and worry came over her sweet features. “Must you take her to Rivendell? I am one for adventure and the wild outdoors, my friend, but I fear…”

“You do not think she is ready.” Gandalf stated with a nod of his head. Belladonna shook her head in quiet reply and Gandalf sighed with a palm that tapped at the head of his armrest. “Ah, Belladonna Baggins, I see that motherhood is setting upon you. I had hoped that she would travel with me, but I can see by your face that you think it unwise.”

“I do, Gandalf. In most matters, I defer to your judgment, but in this, I must protest.” Belladonna said firmly with her brow furrowed over her eyes and her mouth in a frown. “Give us a bit more time with her. You can see she is comfortable with us. I do not think it would benefit her to have her… open up to us, only to take her away and place her in another unknown.”

Gandalf nodded again with his eyes closed and his lips in a twitch. “I suppose you are right. She is naught more than a child to her kind. Perhaps what you say is our best course of action.”

“Thank you, Gandalf.” Belladonna relaxed in her chair and then grinned as another cheer of triumph came from the kitchen. The woman giggled into her hand and Gandalf could only shake his head at the antics of the young dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of action going on, but Maggie is still adjusting. Hopefully we'll get to see her out of Hobbiton soon!


	4. Hesitance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maggie comes to terms (somewhat) with her new life.

She had avoided traveling with the old wizard. She thanked whatever higher power had been listening to her silent pleas. Maggie wasn't sure how she would have attempted it, it had already been more than a month since she had been unceremoniously dropped into this new world and it just  _would not_   _do_  to go traveling with an older gentlemen (no matter how congenial he was) when it was almost  _that time._

Sure enough, it hadn't been a handful of days more after Gandalf had left that she woke up one early morning to find herself gripped with the sudden sensation of  _drip._  With a panicked flail, Maggie rocketed from the guest bed and clamped a heavy hand to her crotch with a wince. Hurriedly, she hobbled her way toward the door and scampered down the hall toward the bathroom. She nearly came to grief with fear when she spotted Bungo coming down the hallway and promptly shut the door right behind her as he turned.

' _I'm fucked,'_  Maggie growled as she rested against the door and found that her hand was coated with blood.  _'Royally fucked. Christ, you think that the-powers-that-be could have left this part out? I'm not going to be reproducing looking like this!'_  She quickly rushed to the basin just in front of a small mirror and rinsed off her hands.  _'Now, what am I going to do about this? I've been able to deal with the cramps… as a human, but what if being this thing is different?'_  Maggie swallowed and became alarmed by the idea. Everything she felt more intensely, now, much more keenly and the emotions struck her to her core.

"Do I ask Bella?" She murmured to the mirror in front of her. "I mean… she's pregnant, she's gone through this, right? We're both females… yeah. I'll… I'll ask her." Another thick swallow and Maggie braced her hands on the counter that the basin and pitcher rested on with a shake of her head. She could feel the stirrings of a cramp start to grip the small of her back and she growled with a glare at her reflection. The creature in the mirror matched her gaze and winced.

"And this thing, God…" Maggie reached up and ran her blunt fingers over her beard. The brown beard edged along her face and slowly started to trace her jawline.  _Dwarves,_  Gandalf had explained, grew a lot of thick hair,  _everywhere_. When she had first asked for a razor or something to take it all off, Bungo had hesitated, for more than one reason.

Much to his amusement, Gandalf then informed her that male hobbits, even the  _females_ , didn't need any shaving blades because the only hair they had was on their heads and  _feet_. There was nothing else, not their legs, not the arms, back, neck, or even the small patches that even human women had on their upper lips.  _Nothing._  They only needed a small set of scissors to trim the hair on their heads and maybe the hair on their feet.

Dwarves, apparently, valued their thick hair and long beards, even on the females. It made Maggie shiver with discomfort. She couldn't even stand stubble on a man's face back home, lest of all on  _her_  face. Gandalf had warned her, though, that to shave off what little of a beard she  _did_  have would be a shameful practice and would only alienate her more.

"Not like I'll ever come across another dwarf, though." She murmured quietly as she washed off her hands again and glanced about the bathroom. She would have to find a way to deal with her monthly visitor in some form. Clothing was already a hard thing to come by. Belladonna had fashioned a few of her maternity dresses for her, but other things like undergarments and anything resembling a shoe were out of the question. She had two or three undergarments (one currently ruined) and a few dresses.

A wash cloth would have to do.

…

After her makeshift solution was wrapped into place, she hurried into the kitchen to find Belladonna set about to make breakfast. The hobbit female smiled in the way of greeting but once she saw the mortification on Maggie's face, she wiped her hands on her slipping apron and leaned over to place a hand on Maggie's arm.

" _What is wrong?_ " Belladonna enunciated carefully for Maggie.

" _Belladonna, I is…_ " Of all the words she knew, it figured that  _this_  wasn't one that she had yet learned. Her face twisted and she glanced down at her feet. ' _How in the seven pits of hell do I explain to her a monthly cycle in my limited vocabulary? How do you even begin to_ mime  _that without having it be mistaken for something else? Oh God, why._ ' Irritated that her language barrier once more confounded her, Maggie sighed and dropped her hands in defeat.

In the end, she dragged the very confused mother-to-be toward the bathroom and pointed to the ruined undergarment. Belladonna sparked into action and cooed softly to Maggie, as if she had been twelve years old again with her first time experience. In reality, Maggie was twenty-two years old, but it was the first time suffering such a thing in a body not hers.

It wasn't long before the mess was cleaned and Maggie was given a new set of undergarments, along with a few strips of cloth as a set to help with the capture of said nuisance. ' _What wouldn't I give for a tampon, or hell, even just a pad? I have to wash this… this is just a nightmare._ ' But given that Belladonna hadn't laughed at her and had only gone about her business with a grim face made Maggie very grateful.

Belladonna returned to the kitchen with Maggie in tow and Bungo was very confused as to why he was suddenly shooed from his place at the table, his cup of tea and a plate of his biscuits in his hand. He grumbled, but at a snap glare from his wife, he disappeared with alacrity. Maggie was placed at the table and Belladonna gave her a steaming cup of some odd smelling tea and slice of toast.

" _Drink. For pain._ " Belladonna explained at Maggie's furrowed brow. Maggie dropped her mouth open in realization and profusely thanked the other woman for her forethought. Eagerly, the new dwarf swallowed her tea (despite the horrific after-taste that scorched her throat) and hoped it hadn't been too late to waylay the pain of her oncoming cramps. Maggie sighed with relief and noticed from the corner of her eye that Belladonna looked at her strangely. She turned to the other woman with a raised brow and waited.

Belladonna bit her lip and a finger tapped her chin, but whatever had been on her mind was waved away with a slender hand and she murmured something incomprehensible to Maggie.

Maggie could only blink in confusion as the woman went back to breakfast.

…

It was just the middle of June, Maggie figured out. It was a few months ahead of her season when she was first 'abducted,' as she coined it, but it didn't matter, her birthday was still in the winter and well enough away that she wouldn't have to be concerned about mentioning it to anyone. What she  _had_  found out was that Belladonna was only four months away from being due. The thought terrified Maggie, because it was learning that the birthing was going to happen  _at the home_  that froze the blood in her body.

For the next couple of weeks, Maggie could only feel panic at the sight of Bella's bulging belly and nightmares plagued her sleep. There were midwives (that was a new and complicated word she had to learn), and on occasion an apothecary that would sweep through the hills and homes to check on the residents (and meeting Maggie for the first time had been a hardship and a half, because who knew there weren't that many dwarves beyond the Blue Mountains? Wherever the hell that was) but that didn't change the fact that there was still a lot of modern medicine that she was accustomed to and  _expected_  that  _just wasn't there._

What if she got a cold? She was surrounded by hobbits and true, perhaps they weren't that different (hell, Bella even managed to explain that dwarves were  _heartier_ ) from each other, but that still didn't keep Maggie's worries at bay. Anything could take to infection, a cut (because it wasn't often someone washed their hands), a broken bone (no aesthesia) or what about an internal injury for that matter?

' _Do we just roll over and die and accept our fate for things like that?'_  The thought made her shudder and she prayed she'd never get anything worse than allergies and a scraped knee (she would gladly and openly admit any cowardice  _just_  to avoid a fight, thank you very much). She was glad to see, though, that the lot she had ended up with – even if they weren't  _her kin_  – was a peaceful and mildly passive-aggressive bunch.

Belladonna and her temper excluded.

It was well into her third month with the Baggins' (July, if she recalled correctly) that life seemed to finally find its rhythm with her. Her language still suffered, but the immersion was a great assistance, especially when even Bungo picked up his wife's attitude of 'we're-not-talking-until-you-repeat-what-I-say-now-say-it' routine.

Once the other hobbits in the surrounding homes and market place had gotten over their strange new resident (not only because Maggie was a dwarf, but because she was also a dwarf with no shoes and only three dresses) they would also stick their noses into teaching her, or giving Bungo and Bella the best methods to teach Maggie, or even better, give her mountains of children's books to read from (and if she hadn't desperately needed them to learn, Maggie would have been horribly embarrassed).

Hell, at one point Maggie had even been left with a handful of young hobbits, much to her distress.

The summer sun was well overhead and the shade of the giant oak tree in the middle of the large field was a blessing. Maggie was at the base of it and in the middle of a herd of giggling and screaming children. A few of the young hobbits had corralled her in the center and she was a playful decoration to the other, more daring children. Maggie did her best to ignore the scalding looks from passing older hobbits and instead focused on listening to the chattering young creatures around her.

" _Miss Ma-gee!_ " One of them cried and soon Maggie found her arms stuffed with a bundle of curls and frilly cloth. The little female was and colorful as a rainbow and her smile was just as bright. As much as she disliked the adults and their alienation, Maggie couldn't help but completely melt with the presence of one of the children. ' _Innocence or ignorance of the unknown, I suppose,_ ' Maggie wondered as the little girl in her arms bounced from her lap and bolted into a run from her friends.

She found it easier to communicate with the children, too. It had bothered her at first when she suddenly realized that she wasn't missing every-other-word that the children spoke, but rather she could follow whole  _sentences_  and conversations with little trouble. She smacked her temple over it later on when she figured out  _why._  ' _Of course I can follow. Their sentences aren't complicated. Their vocabulary is as limited as mine._ ' She wasn't sure if that was a relief or not, but the children always made her forget of her shortcomings. They didn't see a dwarf, or a mute, or even just a struggling mentally-handicapped-female. They just saw a new friend who was strong enough to lift them clear over her shoulders and make them fly.

But that was how her days had passed, for the most part. A sense of peace and the groove of a gentle current led her along. It was easier to immerse herself in the bright and vibrant life of The Shire than to find herself in nightmares of her life before the accident. Flashes of her mother and brothers would come to mind, late at night, and her pillow was probably going to grow mold from the amount of tears she cried into it. She stayed up late and woke up early to avoid the nightly terrors and the vicious memories of all the things she had left behind.

Belladonna and Bungo could only soothe her with tea and biscuits on those nights, having no idea what plagued her or how to comfort her. But then, as the days went on and her sudden appearance was nothing more than a faint story in the Green Dragon, Maggie found herself forgotten amongst the folds of the community. Hobbits were a distrustful people, at least with outsiders and "Big Folk" (and that translation had her laughing for hours), but once they had come to terms with the foreign body, a person was as good as adopted.

The family trees were absolutely  _no joke_  with Hobbits, Maggie had come to realize.

Weekly, she would follow Bella into the market and due to her strength Maggie was often the one laden with baskets of supplies, not that she would have allowed Bella to lift even a single one with consideration to her condition. Soon her wardrobe grew from three dresses to five, from only a few undergarments to one for every day, and then the only problem that remained was the lack of shoes. That had been difficult to get over, Maggie would admit, as she couldn't recall a time after she had turned eight years old that hadn't worn shoes (' _shit, even flip-flops_ ,' she reminisced).

Hobbits didn't wear shoes, Maggie learned. They didn't even have a shoe-maker, or a cobbler, or whatever the hell they were called in  _Y Ole Days_  of long past (in her world, at least). There was absolutely no need for a Hobbit to wear shoes. The soles of their feet were thick and sturdy, heels that were calloused hard enough to put a hammer to shame, and their toes were strong and could grip just as good as their hands could.

Maggie's feet, on the other hand, were long and heavy and much too thick to be anything less than a small barge. She had even compared her feet next to Bungo's, out of curiosity; and bless the hobbit for his patience with all the strange things Maggie would request of him. "All in the name of learning," Bungo would grumble before releasing himself to Maggie in the name of science and experimentation.

The summer days were long and sweet and little by little, though she couldn't escape the nightmares and panic that would grip her from her life before, Maggie found a small place in the warmth of Bag End between the two watchful gazes and the patient teachings of her hobbit companions.

…

August rolled around and the world outside the hobbit hole home started to change. It was gradual and graceful and Maggie had to constantly remind herself to close her mouth before the flies found it. The leaves turned into gold and the rolling hills became waves of copper and sparkling sunlight. Even as the twilight and deep nights took their turns, the land was washed in a steady sea of midnight.

Maggie, due to her nightmares, found herself outside after the sun set most days. The Baggins' had protested at first ("No proper young lady steps out after dark!" Bungo scolded her), but had relented when she admitted that her nightly walks eased her mind and lifted her spirits. She couldn't rightly explain to them what it was about the darkness that soothed her, only that it did. Her headaches were less when the sunlight was gone and the moon was a smooth companion over her shoulder.

She never went too far, only down the hill or up by the grand oak tree. She carried a few candles and a book or two with her when she left Bag End. She would find herself in the curling shade of the tree or a hill and would light her candles to study her words and numbers. It helped her, somewhat, to become removed from the life she lived now and the one she had left behind. A small journal was also her companion, and in it (much to her amusement) was a mixture of English and Westron, doodles and references that no native could understand.

It became a sort of therapy for her. There hadn't been much that she left behind. A cat, long and sleek and lovely; and a fish whose half-moon frills were smothered in red and blues. An absent mother that lived halfway across the country most of the year (and in the basement the rest of it), and a brother who was more concerned with collection of alcohol than the little sister he had left alone.

A few blotches of water had hit her journal before she realized she was crying. Maggie bit her lip to keep it from trembling and swallowed thickly to help her lungs breathe. ' _How is it I seem to have a better life here with_ strangers _than I did with a family who knew me?_ ' Her mother must have loved her, must have. She was fed and clothed and housed for most of her life, and it was only when she had just started college a few months ago… that she noticed how quickly the distance grew between them.

' _Bella's been more of a mom to me than my own flesh and blood._ ' There was no reason for it, either. To look back on her months with the poor hobbits who had found her, Maggie had been nothing more than an infuriating, emotional wreck of a guest. Even Bungo had been hard-pressed to be polite to her in her worst moments with him.

But Belladonna had been nothing if not a stalwart presence, a comforting hug, or a wall of unyielding determination. There was no reason for them to allow her to stay. No obligation or promises kept them together. No blood shared between them to explain why they would share their home with her, a stranger, a straggler,  _a dwarf._  Not even kin in this new life of hers, and yet the pair of them had taken on her well-being with stiff chins and ready hands.

More tears spilled down her face and cooled in the night's breeze. Maggie reached up and wiped them away, but more only followed. ' _Are they all like this? Or just these two?_ ' Whatever grace had decided to drop Maggie's heap of a body into Belladonna and Bungo's lap must have seen something in them.

Or maybe it was just chance.

Maybe it was a fluke.

' _No._ ' Maggie gripped her journal with fear. ' _It's gotta mean something. I – people don't just disappear into thin air and arrive in a new world with no rhythm or reason… do they?_ ' How would she know, in any case? It's not as if anyone had returned from such journeys into the beyond. Maggie blinked to clear her vision, the sharp night coming into focus, and she smiled.

"If the world they fall into looks like this," she murmured to herself and collected her things, "why would they want to come back at all?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... we still haven't traveled anywhere, but Maggie is learning to cope and I've hopefully given you a small bit of insight into her character.
> 
> Leave me any thoughts!


	5. Incoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maggie comes to realize that certain things matter more than others.

**Chapter Five**

_Incoming_

* * *

Laundry day was always a hated day for Maggie. There was no machinery to set up and walk away from, and no means to make any part of the job easier. She sat at the river's edge with a few of the other hobbit women, all of them with their baskets of clothing in various stages of routine cleaning. In front of her was a stone that was half-dipped into the river's gentle current, beside her a basket with soiled clothes and then to her other side a row of chatting females.

It was almost a strange comfort to listen to them. Maggie really couldn't follow their conversations. They either spoke far too quickly or kept their voices hushed. They ignored Maggie for the most part once they realized she couldn't participate in anything they asked of her. The women would sing or gossip, loud cackles would escape them at something funny, and on the rare occasion a stone or two was tossed at one another.

' _For all that they preach on being proper and respectable, they act like school girls._ ' Not that Maggie minded since it was definitely entertaining to watch the women allow their cares to drift away in the water. Their hands worked quickly on their bundles and Maggie could only struggle alongside them like an infant learning to walk. The stone helped a little, but there was only so much that she could do to clean out Bella's maternity clothes or Bungo's gardening pants.

Belladonna wouldn't even lend her a bar of soap and explained that to use such a thing on a basket of clothes was wasteful (Maggie still cringed, even months later, at the thought of no soap for clothes). It was only until Maggie had actually seen the crystal clear waters that ran through the rivers that she relented in her protesting. ' _And maybe parasites aren't a thing?_ ' She wouldn't fool herself over that one. Soon enough, the early morning sun had dragged itself through the sky to noon and Maggie's load was finished long after the other ladies had departed.

The first few times she had offered to do laundry, she had struggled with her bulk and the bulk of the basket. Her knees would continually get in the way and knock the damn thing out of her hands, or her hips would be too big to securely rest the weaved monstrosity upon them, or even better – her arms jutted out from her side and she looked to be carrying a wheel-barrel rather than a basket. In the end, she had settled for a method she had seen on the cultural show back at home.

Funnily enough, the basket rested quite comfortably at the top of her head. She was even getting better at walking up the road without using her hands to hold it steady. Of course, such a method got her some odd looks from a few ( _everyone_ ) of the passing hobbits and neighbors. Bungo shook his head at the sight of it whenever she did arrive back from the river with the basket on her head, but Belladonna would only laugh.

"Dwarves must use their hard heads for something, I suppose!" The mother-to-be would tease. It was the least she could do, though. Maggie had no skill for gardening, even if she could remember the names of the plants and herbs. She had no skill for carpentry or for stonework (which got her even more odd looks from the hobbits) and she could barely use her hands to write in her journal. Laundry, dishes, and house cleaning were approachable and attainable goals. Besides, Bag End was  _enormous_  and gave Maggie plenty to do on the slow days when Bella's ankles got the best of her and Bungo was out into town.

The newly washed clothes were set up to dry on a strong cord of straw and wool set between two deep-dug posts. The afternoon breeze was gentle and would dry the clothes in no time, and then she could retrieve them and start to fold and put them away. It wasn't the life she had envisioned for herself when she escaped her home and went away to college (to be fair, there was a lot more modern technology involved and not so much menial work), but it was steadily becoming an acceptable one.

' _Now if I could only do without the beard._ ' Belladonna and Bungo had made it clear that they knew very little of the dwarves' culture and they took their cues from Gandalf. They had their own language, history, and cultural respects, but because they were such a secretive people, even Gandalf was hard pressed to share anything with her.

_("You are lovely, my dear." Gandalf set his cup down on his saucer and smiled at her amicably. "For a dwarrowdam, you are quite fetching."_

" _What is word?" Maggie asked around her chuck of roast. She swallowed thickly and blushed hotly when Gandalf only chuckled at her display of bad manners. It had been a long day and she had missed breakfast and lunch, much to Bella's horror._

" _Fetching. Fetch. Ing. You are… hm." He paused and brought a gnarled hand to his face, smoothing his fingers down the sides of his cheeks and to the tip of his chin. "Lovely. Your beard is coming in nicely and you look like a sturdy boulder."_

_Maggie blinked, "Did you… I am rock?"_ 'Did he really just call me a rock? I look like a  _rock_?' _Gandalf's rumbling laughter echoed through the hallow kitchen and he shook his head at her. His hand left his face and reached for hers that was forgotten beside her plate._

" _For dwarves, my dear, your features are acceptable." Gandalf left it at that.)_

"Rock my ass… old fart." Maggie muttered with bitter amusement. Really, the old wizard wasn't so bad. He visited on occasion and spent his hours with Belladonna more than Bungo. The male hobbit wasn't annoyed by the wizard's visitations per say, but he made no effort to openly participate in Bella's questioning of faraway places and the wonders of the world. Bungo was very much a homebody and enjoyed the seclusion of his home and the warmth of his hearths.

Belladonna, to Maggie's amusement and wary curiosity, was very much a  _party girl_  or as much as one could be in this type of world. She loved stories, adventure, trinkets that Gandalf returned with for her, old books and new maps. It broke Maggie's heart sometimes, because she caught Bella staring out through the living area's window with a distant gaze and a faint smile on her pretty face from time to time. It was no hard thing for Maggie to imagine the little creature out in the muddle, running for all she was worth through the forest and grinning like a mad fool.

' _Since when did I start using phrases like that? Mad fool. God, I've lost it._ '

On occasions like that, Maggie couldn't help the drift of her gaze to Belladonna's now-near-bursting stomach. It was all at once and then not at all that Bella appear to be ready for motherhood. A spirit like Bella's was hard to tame and even in marriage, her husband held no control over her fire-starter nature. Maggie wondered what the child would do to her and fear would creep into her mind.

Would Belladonna be like Maggie's own mother? A life cut short for motherhood and children? Would the child create a bridge too long for Bella to cross and be who she is without sacrificing her life or the life of her child? Would emotional distance become an issue? Would the child be lonely? Would they feel like they had taken something special from their mother and could only watch her rot away?

Maggie hesitated with a shirt in her hand and it slipped from the swaying rope with the rest of the clothes. She took a moment to turn back and glanced over her shoulder at Bella behind her as the woman worked in her garden, the flowers praying in the breeze around her and her voice in a quiet hum of contentment and peace. Maggie swallowed and went back to the laundry in her grip, her eyes shut against the tears that suddenly sprang into her eyes.

' _She won't be like that. There's too much of_ something _in her to be like that…_ '

…

" _Maggie_."

The dwarf came up with a start and grunted with surprise as she peeled away a piece of parchment that stuck to her face. Maggie gave a hard blink and pressed her blunt thumb and index into the corner of her eyes near the bridge of her nose. She nearly poked too hard into her eyeball and it watered with warning. Maggie cleared her throat and looked around the darkened living area and tittered on the edge of her bench.

"Bella?" Maggie croaked. The room was dark and the fire was low. Night had fallen while she dozed at her desk over her journal. Maggie blinked again and put a fist to her eyes as she turned on her seat. Belladonna stood at the mouth of the hallway and seemed to be hunched over with her hand at the bottom of her stomach.

Suddenly, Maggie was painfully awake.

" _Bella,_ " her words were clearer and she stumbled up from her seat as Belladonna hobbled closer to her. Immediately, Maggie tripped over a vase of flowers and the thing cracked and came to waste under her bare feet, but she could care less about the broken and glittering pieces. Her thick hands took a hold of Bella's shoulder and another took her hand to steady her.

" _Bella, where Bungo?_ " Maggie asked brokenly, her accent and pronunciation a train wreck in the slowly mounting chaos of her thoughts.  _Where was Bungo? Was she in pain, did her water break, was something wrong with the_   _–_ Belladonna was finally moved to a chair and the woman's face pinched with pain. The hand that gripped Maggie's fingers was tight and it shook, but Maggie couldn't tell if it was from pain or nerves.

" _Gamgees. Go. Get him. Hurry!_ " Belladonna's words fared no better in their deliverance. Maggie only held onto the woman's hand tighter and hesitated. She shook her head and knelt beside the panting mother.

" _Cannot. You pain, no is good._ " Maggie stuttered with frustration. She vaguely remembered where the hole for the Gamgees' family was and she could possibly get there without taking a wrong turn down a hill and becoming horrifically lost, but at the moment that wasn't a risk she wanted to take. Bella, on the other hand, was not about to have her emotional turmoil. With a hard frown of her brow and an angry glint of steel in her eyes, Bella's grip released Maggie's fingers and shoved at her shoulder.

" _Now, Margaret. Go. Now!_ " The last of it came out in a hiss and Maggie found herself wiggling with frighteningly ungraceful stumbles to obey. Another piece of furniture met its untimely end with an impact from Maggie's hammer of a knee and she would have laughed at the wildly broken chair but a sudden gasp of pain from the woman  _she was leaving behind_  told her very clearly that  _now_  was most certainly not the time to be laughing about wayward limps and their misfortunes.

Maggie burst from the front door and the poor patrolling night watchman nearly came to grief with his lantern down the hillside. She had no time to stop and barked an apology to him (it might have been in English,  _shit_ ) and thundered down the pathway toward the Gamgees' hobbit hole. She was alarmed by the sound of hooves following her, but when she turned to look over her shoulder, there was nothing. ' _It's your own goddamn feet, you fuckin' mammoth, just go!_ ' Despite the night's cover, her vision was clear and bright and she found the turn she needed to reach her destination.

Her feet upheaved a good chuck of earth from the path as she gripped a fence pole and did her best to turn on a goddamn dime but that didn't happen as gracefully as she would have hoped. Maggie hopped on the toes of her feet and winced as rocks bit into her ankles, but she continued to fly until she spotted the hole she was looking for, ' _and there's Bungo just leaving!_ '

Bella's husband was halfway through the hobbit-y longwinded goodbyes when Maggie came to a staggering stop  _into_  Hamfast Gamgee's gate. The poor gate was just wrecked from the weight of her body slamming into it full force due to her inability to control her own mass and Bungo reared up with a lecture ready at the tip of his tongue. ' _Oh for the love of God, now is not the time for hobbit propriety!'_  Maggie reached out and snagged Bungo by the front of his coat and hauled him forward.

" _Bella, baby, help –_  shit!" It was as far as she managed to get before Bungo shoved her back with his little self and bolted past her, his eyes wide with alarm. Hamfast's voice came into sharp detail and before Maggie could make sense of what he was saying, the hobbit disappeared into his hole. Maggie growled slightly (' _Bella's having a baby and you're going back – whatever!'_ ) and turned on her heavy heel to gallop back the way she had come.

The door was wide open when she arrived and she didn't stop to clean off her feet (as she normally did when entering Bag End) before trotting through the hallway with the sounds of gasps and half-yells guiding her. Bungo had taken his wife from the living area and by the time Maggie had caught up with them, they were nearly halfway to the bedroom.

' _Now or never, Margaret!_ ' She would have die from embarrassment otherwise, but her friend's pain twisted a knot in her chest so painfully that it choked her. Maggie swooped in from behind the couple and willed her limbs to use that obscene strength that lurked in her muscles. Belladonna yelped in surprise and Bungo hiccupped with his baffled shout, but Maggie ignored them. With the mother-to-be cradled in her arms (and for being such a nugget and pregnant, Maggie was momentarily mystified at the lightness of the other woman's body), Maggie hurried with heavy footsteps to the couples' bedroom.

She deposited Bella onto the feather bed and immediately shot away from the edge of the bed as Bungo came up beside her. Sweat already collected at the edge of Bella's brow and Bungo was muttering to her, his hands shaking and nervously gliding over Bella's convulsing form. Rapid-fire words shot out of Bella's mouth and Bungo only gave his wife a quick nod before shooting from the bedroom like his heels had been set on fire.

Maggie found herself pressed deeply into a far corner of the bedroom. Her body was shaking (though not nearly as badly as Bella's) and fear gripped her legs and kept her prisoner in the shadows of the corner. Bella struggled on the bed, her hands fluttering from one place to another. One held her up against the headboard of the bed, the other held the curve of her stomach and every now and again, Bella gritted her teeth, her heels twisting in the blankets.

' _Please don't die,_ ' Maggie felt the fearful thought cloud her mind. ' _Please don't let this take you, please, please,_ ' the mantra was cut short as the bedroom door was pulled open and in walked Gilda Hamfast, her apron pristine along her waist, her honeycomb colored curls pulled back into a hasty braid and her blue-eyed gaze narrowed on Belladonna. The other woman marched into the bedroom and rolled up her sleeves and Maggie felt a small wave of relief take her.

' _Right. Midwife. Right, right, she knows what she's doing,_ ' the comfort she felt at the sight of Gilda was short-lived, because the hobbit woman noticed her in the corner and jabbed a finger in her direction.

" _Margaret. Get me towels, small cloths, warm water and –_ " Gilda stopped as Bungo reappeared in the doorway with a tray that was laden with a teapot and cups. Gilda snorted and waved him away, " _Do not be daft, Mr. Baggins! She cannot have that now, not with the baby, she would just be sick all over the bed!_ "

Maggie, of course, could understand nothing of this. Gilda's words were like short fire-crackers that snapped and made both her and Bungo jump at the sounds. Bungo's arms shook and the tray's contents rattled with the movement so he hurriedly set the tray down on a stool and left it. Bungo's face had gone deathly pale and his voice was lost. Gilda growled, " _If you are not going to help, get out – and take her with you, she's useless!_ "

There was no resistance when Bungo stepped over and took the sleeve of her dress and hauled her right out the door. Both of them slammed into opposite walls and inhaled giant gulps of air. After a few moments between them, the only sounds coming from within the bedroom (whose door was now firmly shut), Bungo laughed brokenly.

" _One would think… we were giving birth, no?_ " He tried to joke and gave Maggie the smallest of crooked smiles. Maggie shook her head frantically and dropped to the floor; her knees bend and pressed up into her face. Her hurt roared in her chest and she felt herself choke again at her throat, her nerves tightening and creating havoc within her body.

' _What is she going to do? There's nothing here to protect her! There's – there's no epidurals, no painkillers, no sterilization, no_ nothing!' A low and hard yell came from within the bedroom and Maggie shamefully shut her eyes and burrowed into the curves of her knees. Bungo fretted by the door and it mounted onto her guilt that she could do nothing to soothe  _his_  nerves, least of all hers!

' _What if she loses too much blood? What if,_ ' Maggie took in a ragged breath when another scream came from within the bedroom and Gilda's voice ripped through it with Bungo's name at the rear end of it. The father-to-be hustled down the hallway in a flash and echoes of his movements rolled down the hallway. ' _What's going to happen to the baby? There's nothing for him here, what if he gets sick, and what if the midwife isn't enough?'_

Bungo soon reappeared and Maggie couldn't bother to bring her head up, she wouldn't have been able to see him through the tears in her vision anyway. She choked on a sob and brought her large hands to cover her ears against Bella's screams.  _'God, I'm so fuckin' useless! Why didn't I go to medical school or nursing? Why didn't I take a practical career?! No – no, Margaret had to go and be a fuckin' smartass and take computer graphics! Fat load of good it does me_ now!'

The door swung open and Bungo tripped out of the room. With a smart snap behind him, the door was shut and he was left in the hallway with her, a dwarf huddle on the ground and wrapped into her knees for dear life. A shuddering exhale escaped Bungo and to Maggie's immense surprise, his arms appeared around her and he hugged her to his chest.

It would have been laughable, really. When she looked back on it years later and told Bilbo the story of his birth, it was  _hilarious_. A small hobbit husband knelt to the ground with his too-short arms wrapped firmly around a hundred-sixty-pound boulder of a dwarf in the hopes that he could comfort  _both_  of them amidst Belladonna's painful wails. It was laughable, truly, when it was put into prospective.

It sure as hell wasn't funny  _right now_.

And it wasn't funny for the four hours of labor it took to finally birth the damn kid.

Bungo never once remained still beyond those first ten minutes he took to hug Maggie. He stood and paced and occasionally poked his head into the bedroom (only to be chased out by a bloody cloth that Gilda threw at his head) and he would whine under his breath and twist his fingers together. Maggie was just a waste of space, if she was honest with herself. She couldn't move, she couldn't even bring herself to open her eyes because every time Bella screamed, new tears would come to her eyes.

' _Please, please, don't die, don't die on me,_ please,'was all that would go through her head. Bella had already turned into too much for Maggie to lose. Within the five months that she had spent with the couple, the two of them had become better parents to her than anything she had known before.

She couldn't dream of a morning without Belladonna making breakfast.

She couldn't imagine an afternoon in the living area without Bungo and his lessons for her.

She just couldn't see one without the other and it made her pray all the harder to whatever smoke-huffing lunatic of a Power-That-Is (because really, why the hell was she here anyway?) that Bella  _survived_  the birthing. She wasn't so sure about the child just yet, but Bella  _had_  to live.

She just had to.

…

The baby arrived early in the morning, on a crisp September day. Maggie wasn't sure how (or  _why_ ) she had fallen asleep curled into a sweaty ball of flesh against the wall in the hallway, but she had. She felt a shift in the air as the door swung open gently and Bungo dove into the room, calling for his wife. Gilda stepped out with a sigh and her large, hairy feet paused by Maggie's bare toes. Maggie could feel the crust of tears at the corners of her eyes and she wiped at them before looking up at Gilda.

" _She is fine._ " Gilda murmured soft and slow. " _It is a boy. Good one. Healthy and strong, he is. Go in, but be quiet and respectful._ " Maggie could only give the older woman a shaky nod of her head since she only understood every other word, but it was enough, and she stood on trembling legs. Gilda shook her chin at the sight of the dwarf and sighed again before she turned on her heel and made her way toward the kitchen.

Maggie barely caught a glimpse of blood stains up to her elbows and on her apron. She had to hold her breath to keep from vomiting at the sight.

She moved in and instantly became aware that the room was almost unnaturally silent. A fire was crackling away in its hearth near the foot of the bed and Bungo seemed to melt into the edge of the feather-mattress next to his wife, both of his pale hands wrapped around one of Bella's. His knuckles were white and her arm was limp and for just a  _split second_  Maggie envisioned a pale and still Belladonna, caught by rigor mortis.

' _Stop that, you drama queen. Christ Almighty.'_  Belladonna rested and Maggie would never tell anyone (even Bilbo) that she waited until she saw the rise of her friend's chest. That single breath allowed an ocean's worth of relief to smother her and Maggie felt her knees threaten to buckle. Her eyes scanned the room and right beside Belladonna was a small bundle of tightly wrapped cloth.

Maggie hesitated after she took a step forward, her eyes on Bungo, but the man was too concerned with the presence of his wife that he paid Maggie no mind as she moved forward toward his child. The baby was washed in shadows from the fire and the darkness of the room and he was still and silent. Carefully and with trembling fingers, Maggie reached down and brought the bundle up into her hold.

At this, Bungo looked up and his mouth opened silently. Maggie froze with the baby halfway up to her chest and she felt new tears spring to her eyes. ' _What is with the waterworks, seriously –_ ' but whatever Bungo was going to say was forgotten with a shake of his head. Instead, he smiled weakly at Maggie, " _Do you know how to hold an infant, Margaret?_ "

She fervently nodded and with that, Bungo sighed and allowed her to continue with a tip of his chin. The baby was warm and heavy in her arms and for a brief moment she had a philosophical thought of ' _I wonder if this is what being Atlas feels like,_ ' but the thought was gone as soon as her ears caught the quiet coo from the little boy in her arms.

She brought him to her chest and secured him before she gently pushed away the fold around his forehead. Wispy curls appeared and they were spun with reds, gold, and brown hues. His eyes were softly shut, but his mouth popped wide as he yawned with another soft cluck. He was absolutely  _miniature_  in her arms and she felt like breathing too deeply with him against her would break him.

Small pointed ears protruded from the curls and a button nose sat in the middle of a face with blotchy-red skin. His nose and eyes weren't even as big as her blunt pinky nail. Everything about him hurt to look at, he was so small and unprotected.

Her vision blurred at the corners of her eyes and Maggie held her breath even as the tears streamed down her face. The creature, the baby, was so small, with pointed ears and floppy feet. Even now, his hair curled like his parents and she  _knew_. It didn't matter if she was stuck here for just now, or forever.

"I'll protect him, Bella," she promised fiercely to her exhausted and quietly sleeping friend, "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We're getting SOMEWHERE, at the very least. Let me know what you think!


	6. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maggie finally relents to her future.

The first week with the new arrival had been chaotic. Maggie had never felt more useless and from time to time she wondered if her older brother had ever suffered this way because of her? Bilbo Baggins was a small creature that hiccuped and cooed, but hardly ever cried. At least, not yet, though Maggie figured there really wasn't  _anything_  for him to cry over. He stayed in the bedroom with his mother, both of them bedridden (Gilda had to shove Belladonna back onto the bed after the second day) until the midwife said otherwise.

This, of course, left Maggie and Bungo to do most of the housework. Not that either of them minded, but Maggie could see her panic reflect in Bungo's shakes and twitching fingers. Gilda had given them a list of things that they could feed Belladonna and  _another_  list of things to keep away from her, lest the baby become sick from nursing. Maggie couldn't rightly tell if any of the information was suggested out of true medical fact or superstition, but she wasn't about to fight Gilda over it (oh hell no, thank you).

Bungo helped her with breakfast, and how to cook without burning the food over the fire (because the fireplace wasn't like an electric or gas stove that just  _told_  you how hot it was) and how to make a tea strong enough for Belladonna. Bilbo remained quiet and blinked at the passing shadows as they flickered around in the room and Maggie did her best to remember what she could from her high school sex education class.

' _He can see shadows. He can hear muffled noises… or is it different for hobbits?_ ' The question had come to her more than once when she was allowed visitation rights (Gilda was firm that the mother and child had to bond strongly before others could interact with him) and got to hold him while he slept. He responded to small stimuli, but he was too young to smile and could only smack his lips when he was hungry or upset over something.

She had yet figured out which was what, though.

Belladonna recovered quickly, but it seemed that Maggie was the only one amused over Bella's escape attempts to the bathroom and the garden. Gilda often herded the mother back into the bedroom, growling about the outdoors being brought inside (or something to that affect, Maggie  _still_  couldn't keep up with Gilda's rapid speech), and Bungo's worrywart nature never chilled and always fired up whenever he stepped into the bedroom and found his wife missing.

It relaxed Maggie, somewhat, to know that she wasn't the only one growing an ulcer over her insecurities when it came to Belladonna and the baby. The nights were just as long and her normal trips outside to the grand oak tree or down into the fields were now all but completely forgotten. Most nights found Maggie awake and sitting as close to her bedroom door as possible (without being in the hallway, Bungo had already scolded her over that one), with the door wide open to allow her to listen for Belladonna or Bilbo's cries.

Every time he did cry, Maggie felt her heart leap into her throat and choke her. Really, there was probably no reason to be so fearful, but the image of the tiny baby pressed against her chest and in her arms was burned into her memories and flashed brightly whenever he did scream out with indignation. Her constant worry was that she was just  _too_  strong, and  _too_  uncontrollable to handle the baby or be near him. Belladonna swatted away her fears whenever they appeared, though, and would guilt Maggie into holding the baby when she visited.

" _He needs his sister as much as he needs his parents._ " Belladonna laughed as she deposited Bilbo into Maggie's arms one afternoon. " _It will do him no good to just know me or his father. We…_ " The woman cut off and Maggie brought her curious gaze away from Bilbo to her best friend. A strange flicker of pinched pain took her features, but at Maggie's glance, Belladonna smiled and waved it away.

Maggie frowned, " _What is, Bella? Hurt?_ "

" _No, no, my dear._ " The woman smiled again, but Maggie could see it still didn't reach far enough to wrinkle the corners of her eyes. " _I am just getting a bit ahead of my plans. With Bilbo here now, I always seem to look too far into the future and forget to enjoy the time I have now._ " At Maggie's blink, Belladonna laughed and a hand came up to hold her chin. " _I apologize. I must sound so strange._ "

" _No strange._ " Maggie answered and shifted Bilbo's (non-existent) weight in her arms. " _You is scared of… of future? Future? His?_ "

" _No. Not… not his. Ours. Bungo's and my life._ " Belladonna murmured softly as her hands left her face and fussed with the blankets around her. She had a faint look of concern over her brow and she sighed with a small glance at Bilbo in Maggie's arms. " _Maggie. Do you know how long dwarves live?_ " At Maggie's shake of her head, Belladonna smiled sadly, " _Dwarves can live to be almost three hundred years old._ "

Maggie had to take a moment to count by tens and add as she went, as Bungo had instructed, her to get to the number equivalent to the same pronunciation Belladonna had used. Maggie blinked and felt the blood drain from her face as a phantom punch took her breath away. She nearly clutched Bilbo too tightly and hastily she placed Bilbo back, next to his mother.

" _Maggie._ " Belladonna started in an attempt to calm her, " _Maggie, please stop. Wait._ "

" _Three hundred… three hundred years. Bella, I cannot. I no do that._ " Maggie pleaded with the female softly. She knew it would do nothing to help her, or stop what could possibly be her future, but it was something, even small. Three hundred years to do  _what_ , precisely? Maggie could barely fathom a normal  _human_  lifetime of close to ninety (and that was being generous, considering the environment she was in) and just that alone had frightened her.

But  _three hundred years?_  How was she supposed to survive that long and not go completely insane? What would she do, where would she – Maggie stopped pacing around Bella's bed and turned to face the woman, tears now at the corners of her eyes. Maggie swallowed and nervously laced her fingers together and twisted them. She opened her mouth once or twice, but could form no words. She wanted to say so much, but her limited ability to speak caged her. Instead, a quiet sob escaped her.

Belladonna frowned and gently opened one arm on the side of the bed that Bilbo didn't rest on, and Maggie moved to it with a trip. She knelt beside the bed and her head dropped to Bella's hip, her hands fisted into the blanket that covered the new mother. Belladonna's hand came to the top of Maggie's head and gently caressed the length of her hair as far as she could reach.

" _I had meant to talk to you before this, Margaret._ " Belladonna murmured with sadness. Gentle fingers caressed Maggie's ear and the young dwarf could only sniffle into the blanket. " _I know this must be terrifying to you. There is so much you do not seem to know, and I wish I could… I could just give you these answers, Margaret._ "

" _How long hobbits?_ " Maggie's muffled voice came up through the blanket. It was a moment more before Maggie could pull her reddened face away from the cloth and stare up at Belladonna with a tear-stained face. Belladonna gave her the smallest of grieved smiles and sighed with a hand that came to Maggie's cheek.

" _Only a hundred._ "

A fresh bloom of grief blossomed in Maggie's gut and she felt sick. Her throat flooded with moisture and she puffed her cheeks to keep from being sick so close to Bilbo. ' _You'll only live for a hundred years…? You'll only be here for a fraction of my… of my lifetime?_ ' Maggie pressed her lips together painfully and shut her eyes against the new wave of tears. The heel of one of her palms came up to her eye socket and she pressed it against her eye. ' _Not even a fraction… less than that, you've already lived half your life, haven't you?'_

" _Only hundred… what I do after, Bella? What I do when all gone?_ " Her voice broke halfway through her words and Belladonna leaned over with a soft shush and pressed her forehead covered in curls over Maggie's broad boulder of a brow. They were silent as Maggie allowed the tears to fall. It now seemed all her fears rushed up to her at once and gripped her lungs so tightly that it was ice that she breathed through, instead of flesh.

' _What am I supposed to do when you're dead and gone?'_  Maggie thought quietly to herself, grief laced even through her thoughts. ' _How am I supposed to survive without you or Bungo? How am I supposed to go nearly twice as long all by myself?'_  The idea terrified her, because to suddenly think that Bag End would be empty of its masters and left cold and unattended just left Maggie bereft. The world beyond the door of the warm hobbit hole now seemed too vast and empty and distant. Who beyond these gentle hobbits would have the patience to deal with her and her oddities? This wasn't her world; she couldn't just strike out by herself again and hope for the best.

This world was nothing like her old one, this one held many more dangerous and much more that she would never understand. How was she supposed to survive that for  _three times as long_?

' _Who's ever going to be as unconditional as you two have been?'_  All these things she wanted to ask, and couldn't, and she knew they wouldn't need to be asked because Belladonna would have no answer for her. No one could predict the future, no one could see so far ahead as to give Maggie peace of mind to her life, left alone and in solitude.

" _You will have Bilbo, Margaret._ " Belladonna whispered into the silence between them. Maggie blinked; she hadn't realized she closed her eyes for so long, having pictured the hobbit mother in her mind so clearly and vividly. Belladonna smoothed away some of Maggie's hair and allowed her slender fingers to graze the beard along her jaw before coming to her chin. Belladonna smiled as best she could, but tears were also in her eyes. " _Bilbo will need you in his life, as you have needed me and Bungo. He will be your companion, your brother, your friend. Will you be the same for him?_ "

" _Yes. Always._ "

That shouldn't have even been a question.

…

The months slowly went by and Maggie remained diligent in her promise to Bilbo, both the one she had made on the day of his birth and the one she had made to his mother weeks after. The little hobbit child was round and chubby, but she assumed all babies were at that age. He was too small to crawl and too fragile to allow on the floor, but there were moments that his mother's fire took him and he could be found trying to wiggle his way out of his wrapped-blanket prison.

It was December by Shire Reckoning when he finally managed it, and he only four months old. Maggie sat by her writing desk, Bungo's lesson book in front of her, but she was utterly captured by the sight just a few feet from her. Bilbo was placed in his makeshift crib of fine oak and polished metal, and his movements had increased enough that the crib began to sway on its own accord.

_That_  was what had originally caught her attention, what followed only stayed her focus even more. The little thing, the  _tiniest_  of creatures she had ever seen, was now fighting to remove himself from his bundle. Little gasps and high pitched grunts could be heard as baby Bilbo did his best to wiggle out of his prison. A little arm first came loose, and then the other, and finally the fold was removed from his head and he squealed happily.

Maggie could only watch from her desk, amazed. ' _That fuckin' little devil…_ ' She continued to watch as the infant finally won his long, hard battle with his confinement, and then could only laugh as he stared up at the curved ceiling with an expression of utter perplexity. ' _Yeah, that's right, you little shithead,_ ' Maggie thought to herself between her smothered chuckles, ' _what now? Where are you gonna go? Oh shit!_ ' The little hobbit seemed not nearly so content to remain in his crib, and had turned onto his side to continue his escape.

"Oooh, no you don't, punk." Maggie snickered in English. She moved toward the crib and placed a hand on the rail that caged him. "Where in God's name do you think you're going, huh?" The curly head little beast turned his eyes up to her and a toothless smile greeted her. Maggie shook her head and reached into the crib to lift him. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just smile at Maggie! She'll do whatever I want because I've got her fuckin' wrapped around my tiny ass fingers. You're such a spoiled brat, you know that?"

Her tirade was interrupted by a loud squeal from Bilbo, immensely pleased that he had been retrieved and removed from his prison. His little fists bobbed in the air happily and he spat at her with his big lips and pink tongue. Maggie felt her face crunch as a cool wetness splattered against her cheek and she sighed. They shared a look and Bilbo hiccupped with his noiseless laughter.

"Yeah, whatever," Maggie teased and brought her thick nose to his face. Another squeal escaped him as he shoved at her cheek with his meaty, baby fist as the edge of her beard now scratched at his peachy skin. "Oh, yeah, don't want to fight now, do you? That's what I thought, punk." Maggie leaned in further and blew her lips into his neck, growling and nibbling as softly as she could. The baby now screamed in her hold and laughter sprung out of him as he fought her and tried to beat her away with his hands and face.

" _Maggie._ "

The dwarf froze at the sound of Bungo's voice and slowly she turned toward the kitchen and grinned at the young father. He stood at the mouth of the kitchen with his hands on his hips and flour in his hair. The hobbit could only roll his eyes at her, but she could see his cheeks twitch and become slightly pink with amusement.

" _He started it._ "

" _Maggie!_ "

…

Gandalf didn't arrive to see Bilbo until the turn of the new year within The Shire. Maggie very nearly got away with not mentioning a birthday to Belladonna and Bungo, but the old meddling weasel had brought it up in conversation,  _of course._  They had been seated comfortable in the designated family room further into the hill of Bag End, with a fire blazing before them (and carefully fenced  _and_  bordered to keep a very active Bilbo at bay) and a few cups of tea and foodstuffs around them.

Maggie had never really had a  _true_  Yuletide holiday back at home. There was no trees, no decorations, no traditions to practice, just nothing at all. Her mother wasn't usually around and by the time five in the afternoon rolled around, her older brother was well into his second bottle of hard liquor. This, though, which she now shared alongside the Baggins' and Gandalf, was nice. It was warm and cozy and completely unnatural and strange. Bilbo was at his mother's feet as Belladonna sat in her reclined chair and he gnashed away with his two new teeth on a leather toy his father had given him.

Belladonna looked to be asleep, wrapped in her shawl and heavy against her chair. Bungo sat not too far to her right and held a book in his lap with a cup balanced in his other hand on the armrest. Gandalf hunched over his pipe in one of the few human-sized chairs they had (Maggie had the other one) and contemplated the flames as they danced before his eyes.

" _Margaret._ " Gandalf called to her. The young female dwarf looked up from her journal in her lap and tilted her head at the wizard. He puffed at his pipe and grumbled with a thought. " _How old are you, my dear girl?_ "

" _Three and twenty._ " Margaret replied readily. Her speech was still rugged and sharp around the edges, but what it lacked in grace it had in strength of sturdy bones. Some phrases and the turns of the words were a mystery to her, such as her numbers, but the steering was much less blind now when she spoke, with eight months under her belt, and she was glad for it. Maggie shifted in her chair, " _Why do you ask, Gandalf?_ "

" _I am merely curious, Margaret._ " Gandalf replied with a small tip of his head. Maggie felt one of her eyebrows tick up toward her hairline. ' _Right. Just curious, he says. Buuuuullshit._ ' But if he wasn't going to say anything else on it, she wasn't going to pursue it either. She turned back to the journal in her hand, the piece of charcoal having stained her fingers a long while ago, and the twisted (and unseemly) likeness of the great oak outside was starting to take shape.

Of course, not half an hour later into the smooth night did Gandalf deem it fit to intrude into the silence with his questions once again.

" _Margaret._ " Gandalf twittered at her. Maggie paused in her drawing practice and blinked with a frown down at her work. Slowly, she turned her head to the old wizard and cocked her chin at him, but he seemed wholly undisturbed by interrupting her. He puffed out his cheeks and his big, bush-like brow fluttered on his face.

" _Yes?_ " She asked when she realized he wasn't going to continue at the mere turn of her gaze. Honestly, it was like pulling teeth with the wizard sometimes. Even Bilbo had a better response time than the old man just an arm's length away from her.

" _Three and twenty… I had mentioned it before, to Belladonna, but now that you are capable of understanding, I wish to discuss it with you._ " At this, Belladonna appeared to come awake and sat upright in her chair. Bungo's eyes remained on the fire, but he sighed and sipped his tea. Both signs had Margaret tensing and she curled her folded legs tighter against her (not like there was much room on the chair, anyway) and tucked her journal further into her lap.

" _What is it that you wish to discuss, Gandalf?_ " Bilbo was taken up from his place at Belladonna's feet and held in her lap. He protested lightly and growled around his leather toy (a habit he had learned from his dwarven sister, unfortunately), but otherwise continued with his play.

Belladonna, though, cleared her throat. " _Gandalf…_ "

" _She may not be old enough in the dwarven culture, Belladonna Baggins, but she has shown enough growth and maturity to warrant this conversation._ " Well, if Maggie hadn't been worried before, she certainly was now. She glanced between her companions, but only Bungo refused to meet her gaze. Maggie huffed and gave Gandalf a narrowed look.

" _And what is this issue we must discuss? You have me worried, wizard._ " Maggie replied stiffly.

Gandalf sighed as well. " _When you first arrived, my dear girl, I had suggested to your keepers,_ " he gestured casually to Belladonna and Bungo just off to his side, " _that you be taken to Rivendell, home of Lord Elrond._ "

" _The… elf._ " Maggie said lamely. That was still a thing to wrap her head around. She had only ever seen hobbits and Gandalf, and that alone had stretched the imagination of her mind, but to see elves? She had read enough of Belladonna's books to know that these creatures were well beyond other-worldly and to see one was to see stars.

" _Yes_ ," Gandalf answered sharply, " _Though, do you mean to tell me now that you've regained some of your memory – and that such a memory is only of the ill-will dwarves harbor for elves?_ " Gandalf had snapped at her so soundly that Maggie recoiled from his words. Belladonna frowned angrily and turned her heated gaze to Gandalf.

" _Hush now, Gandalf. For shame, I had already told you that such a thing as elves was new to her!_ " Belladonna's words were like a blade that cut through Gandalf's ire and the old wizard wrinkled back down into himself. Bilbo's bottom lip trembled from the turn of the mood in the room and he looked up to his mother with tears. Belladonna cooed gently to her baby and hugged him, murmuring soothing things to him.

" _I do apologize. In all my dealings with dwarves, their stubbornness is an obstacle I have very little patience for, Miss Margaret._ " Gandalf shook his head and fiddled with his pipe. There was a beat of silence and Maggie felt her body release its tension, but she doubted very much that the discussion was over.

" _Why should I go to this lord?_ " Maggie asked quietly into the stilled room. She brought her gaze away from her journal and back to Gandalf.

" _Your situation is not wholly unique, Margaret. There are many who have suffered the effects of a head injury such as yours._ " Gandalf's gaze shifted from her eyes to her forehead and she couldn't help but raise a hand to the long scar that marred her forehead from the middle of her brow and down to the corner of her eye. Even now, Maggie was unsure if that had been from dropping into her new world or from the car accident in the old one.

Gandalf nodded his head, " _Yes. I had thought that Lord Elrond would give you some much needed attention. Not to say that your mind is completely muddled, my dear, but it is strange that you have no family… no friends, and no home._ "

" _This is her home._ " Bungo immediately answered.

" _This is my home._ " Maggie followed in time with Bungo.

Maggie glanced up over at Bungo, their statements having collided together in the air. She smiled faintly at the young father and he gave her a tight nod. Though they may not have had as open a bond as Belladonna and her shared, Maggie would be the last to renounce his relationship with her, and his goodwill.

" _Be that as it may,_ " Gandalf chuckled in amusement, " _Her situation must be dealt with, and Lord Elrond may have information for her as to her past, as well as where she may find herself in the future._ " Margaret turned her gaze away at that, the discussion of her lifespan still painful in her mind even weeks afterward.

Maggie shook her head and gripped her journal, " _I shall not. I do not wish to leave, not with Bilbo so young._ "

" _My dear girl,_ " Gandalf countered readily, " _Bilbo will be here when you return. There is no safer place in this world than the Shire, of that I can assure you._ " Maggie continued to shake her head. Though Bilbo was nothing to her, not flesh or blood, and she certainly didn't give birth to him, he was as good as a little brother as any. She couldn't imagine leaving him behind, even if the Shire was safe and secure.

' _And how long will I be gone?_ ' She wanted to ask, but something held her tongue. ' _What if I'm gone so long that he starts to learn to walk and talk, to play, and I'm not around?_ ' The thought of missing those memories pained her and not for the first time, Margaret wondered how  _her_  mother had been able to relinquish those precious moments without a care.

" _Margaret._ " Gandalf coaxed his way into her silence and the young dwarf snapped her gaze to his face. He gave her the warmest of smiles and leaned over to place his hand on the head of her armrest. " _I would not say this if I did not believe it wise. You have grown so well under the tutelage of your hobbit family, but I believe now is the time to seek a higher power._ "

Maggie sighed heavily and her head lulled back onto the support of her chair. " _No more than two months, Gandalf,_ " she relented warily, " _Then I return._ "

Gandalf blinked and pulled away from her chair. " _Two months, Margaret? Why such a limited amount of time? Is there something important in two months?_ " He probably knew damn well what was coming up, she could see that glint in his gaze and she scrunched her nose at him.

" _It is my first birthday here. I wish to share it with Bilbo._ "

Gandalf laughed, " _And so you shall, my dear dwarrowdam, and so you shall!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is seriously like pulling teeth from her, I can't get her to just MOVE. We'll see how far we get with this, huh? Leave your thoughts!


	7. Pilgrimage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maggie finds little comfort in traveling...

* * *

 

A joint-cracking yawn stretched Maggie's jaw as she scratched the patch of beard by the back of her jowl. The gentle clop of the pony under her was a soft, hushing lullaby and it took everything in her power to keep at least one eyelid open. The other was a complete lost cause. She rubbed at it vigorously, but it did nothing to help. Gandalf's horse trotted in front of her and the wizard hummed happily into the early morning air.

 _Old fart_  fluttered through her mind more than once as she watched his back. The morning had started before the crack of dawn. Belladonna and Bungo had greeted her in the kitchen with a small bag of warm bread and apples, another bag with cheese, and her traveling pack was by the door with her belongings. It was with quick hugs and a lingering kiss to baby Bilbo's forehead that Maggie left the only home she knew here with tears flooding her vision.

Now, though, she was about ready to just tip off one side of her sweet pony and do a barrel roll down the road. ' _Why, at the ass crack of dawn… what's so important about getting there fucking now, Christ._ ' The sun glittered through the trees when it couldn't quite reach the canopy of leaves and it was still too weak to warm her skin. The birds chirped over her head and despite the beauty of it all, Maggie tilted her head back and frowned up at the chattering creatures.

"Why the long face, my dear lady?" Gandalf called back to her. Maggie snapped her head forward and stared at his back, but he made no movement aside from the sway of his mount. ' _How…?_ ' She frowned hard enough to pout and not for the first time wondered at his trickery.

"It is early morning, Mister Wizard," she replied softly and fought away another yawn. "I am not… what is word?"

"Not… routinely awake at dawn? Practiced?" Gandalf offered.

"No, no." Maggie yawned anyway, blast it. "It means…  _accustomed!_  That is the word."

Gandalf laughed merrily in front of her and his horse clicked its teeth. "It is very good to see that your speech has improved so tremendously, child." There is was again. Maggie  _knew_  she had already told the wizard her age, but yet he still continued to call her a child. She supposed it made sense since Gandalf's graying hair and sloping back were not the visages of youth, so that much was at least certain.

"Yes, it has made things much easier now." Maggie continued. This whole thing was very strange, still. Nearly a year was spent in this new and incredible world, but Maggie had found that so long as she stayed within the comfort and safety of Bag End, she could almost –  _almost_  – pretend that the rest of the world was normal like it had been back home. ' _On Earth._ '

"Perhaps you could be a - , hmm?" Gandalf's voice held a touch of humor and Maggie barely caught the word he used. She urged her pony forward and came up beside the wizard. He glanced at her and with a tilt of her head she conveyed her confusion. His mouth popped, "Ah, yes. Hm, you would not have used that word. A connection. A bridge between your kin and the Elves."

"Why would I need to be such a thing?" Maggie questioned. "Are hobbits not friends with the elves? Belladonna often took walks out into the forest looking for passing caravans of them…" Gandalf chuckled into his scarf and adjusted the hold he had on his staff with a shake of his head.

"No, dear Margaret, it is not the Hobbits I speak of," he grinned at her, "it is your kind, the Dwarves."

Maggie pulled a face. "Why would they not have relationships with elves? Does trade not exist for them? Is that why I never see more of… us?" It was so very strange to think of herself as anything other than human, even after so long. It had taken an uncomfortable amount of personal time and pep talks just to herself to get over the fact that her body had changed so dramatically, or that she sported a beard.

"Your race is the secretive sort." Gandalf tugged lightly at his beard. "They have a secret language, secret names, and they rarely mingle with others."

"But you know of them." Maggie countered. A whole race of people couldn't just go completely unnoticed, not if they were as bulky and hefty as she was, at least.

"Oh yes, we know  _of_  them. Caravans come and go between the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains on routine trading missions. Sometimes they stop in some of the settlements of Men for supplies or to sell goods they would not trade amongst each other." Gandalf's horse threw its head back and whined angrily at something and the wizard reached over to pet its graceful neck. "So, again, we are aware of each other, but their most inner cultures and traditions are a mystery."

Maggie glanced at her pony's reins in her hands and rubbed the leather between her fingers thoughtfully. "Is this why you are taking me to Elrond? Am I to be placed into a populace with my kin?" The fear in her voice was unmasked and her earthy gaze flicked up to the wizard next to her.

Gandalf hummed. "No. Originally that was my intent, but you… I beg your pardon, my lady, but you have proven to be quite unique. I am afraid that to place you with your people would be a mistake."

"Oh," Maggie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Then why are we headed to the elves?"

"To help you learn, Margaret." Gandalf told her gently. "You are mystery to me. Your mind and your physical age do not match any of your mannerisms, and you behave more like the people of Men and Elves than you do of the Dwarves. I am hoping that Lord Elrond will be able to shed some light on you."

' _Your first visit to a psychiatrist, Mags. What fun._ '

…

The riding was uneventful and Maggie wasn't sure if she was grateful for such a thing. It took them a few days to get to the edge of The Shire and Maggie was amazed at the boundary of the land she had made a home within, unaware of its true distance. The camping was a new experience as she hadn't the time (or the desire) for it in her previous life. It did felt a bit like she was a cheat at it, though, because she had a wizard to light the fire and help her with her bedroll.

Even so, the nights were becoming her favorite parts of traveling. It was quite comical on the first night, when she noticed that the light around her wasn't coming from the fire in front of her. The light that bathed her was smooth and sweet, a gentle swath of silver and glitter. Startled, Maggie looked up and her mouth promptly dropped.

Above her was an explosion of stars that she had only ever seen in her astrology text books. The sky looked splattered from one end as far as she could see to the other with a paint brush's flicker of silver and white paint against a shadowy canvas. The moon was almost as blistering as the sun to look at and Maggie was enraptured by the jewel that floated in the sky. Her neck would hurt before she dropped into her bedroll for the night, but she didn't care.

It saddened her to think that she had missed such a thing back on Earth, ' _and that's probably from air pollution and smog. That's painful to know.'_  A hunger struck in her stomach that started at the drop of the setting sun and it made her fingers itch, to reach up and take the stars from the sky and devour the scintillating gems as if they were scraps of food for her starvation. The feeling was almost overwhelming and to force her gaze to look away was difficult. She would have to learn to control that sensation, whatever the hell it was or where from within her it had started.

Now, though, for the first time in months, Maggie felt useless. She knew nothing of what to do in the wilderness and relied on the old wizard for all her answers. She couldn't even take care of her own pony and that  _alone_  made her heart sink with guilt. ' _Poor animal has to carry my ass around and I can't even feed her or brush her without making her antsy._ ' Most nights Maggie found herself by the edge of the fire as the wizard went about his nightly routine of setting up the camp, tending to the animals, and making their dinner.

' _I'm a sack of useless bricks. What was it that Belladonna said? If you don't know, ask. Yes, mom._ ' A small smile formed on her lips and after she threw her bedroll out by the fire and the boiling pot, she moved toward Gandalf and swallowed nervously. The wizard hummed a tune to the horse and it appeared as if the animal swayed with his brushing and melody. Maggie cleared her throat and the brushing came to a stop.

"Yes?" Gandalf asked with a small glance over his shoulder.

"May I learn?" Maggie asked politely with a point to the brush. "To… care for my pony?"

The wizard chuckled. "Of course, Maggie, and I believe dear Brussel would enjoy your company." He stepped away from his horse and held the brush out to Maggie. She took it with a nervous grip and pressed the bristles of the brush into her opposite palm as she walked toward her mount. The pony, Brussel, lifted his ears at her approach and his nostrils flared with interest.

'…  _annnnnd there goes my bravery._ ' The pony wasn't large, she  _knew_  it wasn't large, but the animal still made her anxious. There was a reason her pets back on Earth were nothing more than a cat and a fish. Both creatures only needed her for feeding and cleaning, the rest they did themselves. Maggie swallowed and jolted in her skin when Gandalf came up beside her.

"Now, this is no way to start." Gandalf easily moved toward Brussel and patted the pony upon the nose with affection. The wizard look to her, bushy brows raised in question. "He will not harm you, so long as you do not harm him first. Come, hold out your hand. He knows you, my dear; you have ridden on him for a few days now. He will welcome your affection, please trust me." Maggie nodded and took a few steps until she was near Brussel. She took slow and deep breaths to help her steady her nerves and relax her body. If she was tense, her animal would be as well. She could remember that much from caring for her cat.

"Hello, Brussel." Maggie spoke softly and a smile ticked at the corner of her lips as one of Brussel's ears flicked toward her. "Please, do not bite me. I do not want to start this journey with an infection." Gandalf's chuckle relaxed her and she felt the anxious heat release from her muscles as she let go. Gently and with as much love as she could muster without her jittery fingers interrupting, she took the brush to Brussel's neck and worked the stiff bristles down his muscle.

The pony relaxed at her touch and a real smile took over her face.

…

It was now a week a half on the road and she was about damn ready to kill someone (the wizard was looking like a tempting target). Her ass was completely sore and her left butt cheek had a blister on it that made her sit weird upon her saddle. Her ankles hurt from the heavy boots that she wore almost constantly now (because to take them off to sleep was just a nightmare in the morning) and her legs trembled from the effort to keep herself steady.

' _How the fuck did the ranchers do this for months on end?'_  She grumbled, but never loud enough for the wizard to take notice. Maybe he did, and he was a vindictive old bastard, but he never said a thing about her sores or discomfort. Her back itched from the bedroll and the rocky ground they would sleep on, and her stomach grumbled from the lack of full meals. Belladonna, Maggie realized, spoiled her rotten with so much food and comfort. She felt worse off now than she did when she was on Earth.

The only things that managed to cool her ever rising temper at the situation was Brussel and her stargazing. The pony was affectionate and a cuddle-bug after the first night that she had attempted to brush him. Whenever she came near for his nightly cleaning, he would move his face into her chest and nuzzle with a snort. He would stay there until she moved him to reach beyond his neck and even then, he turned his head to look back at her.

The stars only got brighter and the feeling within her gut became hotter.

"Gandalf." Maggie called from across the camp. Brussel munched on the grass in front of him and the wizard looked up from the fire and gazed at her. "… May I ask you something, about me?"

"About you, Maggie?" Gandalf clarified. "What could I possibly know about you that you cannot know of yourself, my child?"

"No, no." Maggie shook her head and pointed to her beard and then her chest. "I do not mean what is in my mind, Gandalf. I mean to ask what… I want to ask about Dwarves. My… my people."

"Oh, I see." Gandalf nodded and then gestured toward her with his pipe. "Come, then. Ask me what questions you have in your mind, Margaret."

"I have this feeling," she began, a wayward thought going through her mind of  _he's going to think I'm crazy_  and she stepped toward her bedroll, "it is in my chest and I felt it most strongly…" she sat on her bedroll and then looked up toward the dark and sparkling sky. "I feel it whenever I see the stars."

"What do you feel?" Gandalf questioned. Maggie brought her gaze to Gandalf at the change of his tone to his voice. It wasn't playful anymore, but more curious and wary. Her heavy brow settled over her eyes and she tilted her head to one side.

"I feel as if I was hungry, as if eating the stars would satisfy my empty stomach." Maggie leaned back on her hands and looked back up toward the sky. "It is something strange when they light up the sky and this heat builds in my stomach. I want to take the stars from the sky, but I know that I cannot. That… is not right, is it?"

Gandalf sighed and tapped his pipe on the rock he sat upon. "I suppose it was a bit much to think that you would be so different from your kin that such a characteristic would not manifest in you."

"What do you mean?" His answer startled her. Was something wrong with her? She wasn't a rich girl back home, but she hadn't been a sticky thief that wanted every pretty bauble she laid her eyes on, ' _wait a second…_ ' Her earthy gaze flashed to the wizard. "Gandalf… is this  _greed?_ "

"Not completely." The wizard grumbled. "Dwarves are… passionate. Intense. There are no others as fervent in their love of their creations as the Dwarves are, and it is a dangerous trait within them. It is a fine line that they walk, between pride and madness."

"Madness…?" Maggie breathed. "Am I going mad?"

"No, Margaret. Not if you can control it." The old wizard nailed her with a steely gaze and Maggie could feel a shiver roll through her shoulders and down her arms. She sat up straighter and cast her eyes away from her escort. The wizard sighed heavily and when she glanced up, years had settled upon his shoulders. "Some dwarves lose themselves to their greed, but I believe you may be one who does not fall to it. It is only a problem when you can no longer manage your desire. It is a constant battle for Dwarves and one that you must not falter with, for failure…"

"… is madness." Maggie sighed. "I understand. I am sorry for asking."

"No, Margaret." Gandalf stopped her. "I hope that you continue to ask. I shall teach you what little I know of your people in the hopes that you do not make the mistakes that lead to ruin. You must be strong, dear… for Bilbo."

Maggie nodded, "I shall be. I thank you, wizard."

"Tharkûn." Gandalf replied suddenly. Maggie blinked and he continued. "To the Dwarves, my name is Tharkûn. Practice the word and perhaps the rest of your Khuzdul will come easier to your tongue."

" _Aw, c'mon, you're kidding me._ " The English slipped and Gandalf raised a brow at her. Maggie shook her head with frustration and rubbed the heel of her palm over her cheek. "Must I learn another language? I can barely speak Westron,  _Thh-Thak_ , ugh…  _Tharkuun._ "

Gandalf laughed readily at her words, "Oh yes, I hope that we may be able to teach you more than just one! Khuzdul is secret, but Lord Elrond should know enough to give you a healthy start! And beyond that, if he is gracious and generous, you shall learn  _Sindarin_."

Maggie flopped back into her bedroll with a childish whine.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from a long vacation! Hopefully we'll get the ball rolling again and I can keep you all coming back for more!
> 
> Please read and review!
> 
> EDIT: I got some lovely art from a good friend, and you can find her work here: http://naiku-art.tumblr.com/


	8. Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie has a moment or two

The travel through the human town of Bree proved to be a test in humility, humor, and patience. Maggie found that she was on the ass end of the totem pole when it came to the unsavory glances shot her way. Despite _Thark_ _ûn’s_ shadow (he demanded that she even use his new name in her thoughts) cast over her stoutly form, she was still the stickiest, nastiest piece of gum on everyone’s shoe if their glares were to be believed.

She did believe, most heartily. This was nothing like the icy welcome she had received from the hobbits back at home when she had first arrived. The humans were about as self-interested as they were tall, and tall they were, for they towered over her like booms without microphones. Their voices echoed just as loudly, too, now that she thought about it. Gandalf, _Thark_ _ûn_ , had been cheerfully greeted by most that passed them by and they knew the old, fraying wizard as Gandalf, or _The Grey Pilgrim._

Honestly. How many names did this man need?

Their stay had been mercifully short. A night in the Prancing Pony with a short straw-stuffed bed, and a loud and party-drunk crowd under the floorboards gave way into a hasty morning in the skunk-washed latrines. Maggie felt her inner-hobbit sneer at the festering mud around the stone stalls and the smell that wrinkled from them was enough to burn off half of her beard, she was sure of it. These humans had some ways to go in the terms of hygiene and cleanliness if they were ever going to be like the ones back home.

Like she was, back home.

As the days trailed by and she followed in the path of the wizard, she found that there was too much time in the day to be left alone with her thoughts. Gandalf – ‘ _gods damn it from above,_ ’ – _Thark_ _ûn,_ spoke to her plenty. The birds and all manner of winged creature were his favorite subjects, with the plant life and furred creatures a close second.

Dwarves were not readily on his list of things to discuss. It appeared _her_ people were far too stubborn and prideful of their culture and lifestyles that they hardly shared with anyone, lest of all a wandering wizard from whatever wastes he claimed as a homeland.

“Those last few words criticizing my origins came from an especially spirited young dwarf dam, who…”

Off he was once again, not that Maggie minded all that much. It kept her thoughts away from the home she had left behind, and the small bundle she missed terribly. She hadn’t given birth to the damn fawn, but the ache was hard enough. She missed his pudgy face and gurgles, the miniscule fingers around her sausage-shaped ones, and his large, wide eyes.

It had already been about a month since they had set out from Hobbiton. The yuletide snow frosted the land around them and Maggie couldn’t tell how far along they were into the new year. She had made _Thark_ _ûn_ promise to send her home before her birthday, to spend it with Bilbo, but now she feared (she knew), that wouldn’t be on the agenda.

Conniving old goat, that wizard.

“Ah, I see we have companions upon this road.” The wizard’s voice drew her away from her darkening thoughts and Maggie brought her face to look up. Before them was a trio of horses, their asses turned toward them, as well as their riders’ backs. Maggie urged her pony closer to Gandalf’s horse and remained quiet. These appeared to be humans, as well, with long backs and long necks. What threw her off and made her itchy with curiosity was the state of their hair.

These people looked as if they bathed every day by the gloss in their long strands. It was mildly unnerving to her as she became painfully aware of her coarse hair and dark threads that framed her stony face. Gandalf never hesitated for a moment and Maggie thought, just for a moment, he should have paused.

“Hail, fair folk of Imladris!” Gandalf greeted. All at once the riders turned toward the sound of Gandalf’s voice and Maggie felt her throat constrict. Shapely faces glowed with smooth skin and jeweled eyes, with mouths that neither frowned nor smiled. They all returned Gandalf’s greeting and before she could steel herself (or her soul for that matter), the ethereal beings focused on her.

_‘I’m going to be violently sick._ ’ It almost felt horrendously unnatural to be looked upon by such faces, but Maggie felt her neck stiffen and her hard chin lock into a dog’s careful tilt. She would not bite if provoked, but heavens above did they make her felt completely skinned.

“Good afternoon to you, _Mithrandir._ How has the day treated you?” This one was dark haired and carved marble. Maggie could faintly recall Gandalf’s mention of rocky appearance that she sported and wondered briefly if her pebble features could compare to their ivory coloring.

“Well, my friend, very well. Ah, where is she – Margaret, come out from behind me, please!” Gandalf’s stern words had Maggie bring her horse around his left side, as far as politely possible from the trio of men, ‘ _could they be men? Is that allowed?’_ The men blinked at her and their stillness felt unnatural.

“Margaret. Introduce yourself, my dear.” Gandalf commanded. Maggie swallowed as this would be the first time that she would attempt to communicate without Belladonna or Bungo to hold her hand through the process. ‘ _Don’t say anything stupid. Stick to words you know, girl.’_

“Margaret?” Gandalf prompted and Maggie could see the brows twitch over the trio of handsome faces.

“I am Margaret, dwarrowdam under the care of _Thark_ _ûn,_ formerly a ward of Bungo Baggins, of Bag End.” She could feel her throat go dry and she inhaled sharply. The air burned through her nose and over her tongue. Gandalf beamed at her and then nodded to their companions.

“What would a dwarf need to be in the care of a wizard?” Maggie noticed this question wasn’t directed at her. The men turned their attention to Gandalf and the wizard bobbed his head slightly.

“It is strange, but she is a dear friend and has requested assistance in her unique situation.” The thin eyebrows of the riders arched up and they glanced at each other in silent communication. It was then that Maggie noticed something entirely impossible; the points of their ears through their glittering hair.

Something punched her in the chest and she clenched her teeth to keep from gasping. ‘ _Elves! Holy shit, Belladonna wasn’t anywhere close!_ ’ Maggie had expected something akin to a glowing being that floated above the ground and bent trees with a wave of their hand. Instead, these males appeared human and completely grounded.

‘ _This feels a little disappointing._ ’ Not that she had any room to talk once she considered her appearance and all its eroded glory. She couldn’t deny that they were beautiful, far more so than any living creature had the right to be, but she had been expecting more, so much more.

“Are you… headed to Imladris, then? If you would like, we could accompany you to the edge of homestead.” The blond elf offered. Maggie frowned upon the notice of a glance thrown her way from the corner of his eyes. She didn’t look away, she wasn’t about to let the beautiful bastard intimidate her. A slight sneer colored his face and he looked away.

‘ _Primp dildo._ ’ She snorted down her chin and reached over to scratch at Brussel’s neck.

“Only if you are headed in the same direction, and if not, you needn’t worry over our safety!” Gandalf turned away the help and Maggie was grateful for it. The elves nodded their heads and with a brief and affectionate farewell (to Gandalf, at least), they turned their horses down the path that Gandalf and her had come along.

Immediately, Gandalf turned on her with a searing heat. “And what, pray tell, was that?”

“What was what?” Maggie blinked. She pulled at Brussel’s reins. “What happened?”

“What happened.” Gandalf grumbled and brought his horse alongside hers. “You were incredibly rude, Margaret.”

“How was I rude?” She asked as her pony meandered along. “I only introduced myself.”

“They are not _blind_ , Margaret. I saw your face and heard your grumblings.” Gandalf reprimanded. Maggie rolled her eyes and snapped a look at him with a scratch at her beard, a habit that was slowly becoming a quirk of hers.

“I said, maybe at maximum, ten words to the pointy eared bastards.” She snorted again. “And if the blond one hadn’t sneered, I wouldn’t have had a cause to return it.” Gandalf had gone silent at her words and it was a handful of paces before Maggie ticked an eyebrow at him. “What now, wizard?”

Bushy brows narrowed over his nose. “It appears there is far more dwarf in you than I had realized. How, though, is my concern. You have not had any dealings with elves in all your time with Belladonna, and yet you harbor some hate.”

Maggie scoffed. “Hate? Now, I wouldn’t go so far. _Dislike_ , maybe, but not hate. I don’t know them and they certainly do not know me. If _anyone_ looked at me that way, regardless of the state of their ears, I would be annoyed. If anything, _they_ were rude.”

“Oh, Margaret.” Gandalf sighed. “What am I to do with you? We are to spend a good amount of your spring with elves. Surely Belladonna taught you good manners.”

“So did my mother,” Maggie bit, her temper on the rise. “But yes, I have plenty of manners. I also learned to treat others as they wish to be treated. Do not demand respect when none can be given.”

“You remember your mother?” Gandalf derailed. Maggie sighed. She knew better than to mention anything of her old life. Those things would just get her in trouble. She had done well enough with Belladonna and Bungo to avoid any hurt, but Gandalf had a way of pulling out the worse of her traits and buried memories.

“I remember some bits and pieces. They come to me over time.” She lied. She remembered her human life vividly. She could remember her pets, her apartment, her classmates and friends. She recalled her favorite park, the mom-and-pop sandwich shop just down the street. She knew all these things, even the accident that put her here.

She just couldn’t share those, because how would a dwarf know any of that? How could she explain her situation, her _world_ , to anyone that existed in this one? No, in this, she was absolutely alone.

“That is good.” Gandalf smiled at her. “Perhaps with Lord Elrond’s assistance, you will come to remember much more. We could even find your family.”

Maggie gave him a waning smile. ‘ _I very much doubt that._ ’

0 o 0

The remaining travel was quiet. Though Gandalf probed, eager to see what else Maggie could recall of her previous life, she held firm and kept her lips tight. The wintery nights were sharp and tasteless and no amount of fire or furs could keep the shiver out of her bones. She wasn’t entirely sure it was the ice that unnerved her, or the thought of being surrounded by gossipy, smug, self-centered elves.

She would know soon enough. The passage through the Trollshaws was quick with the help of a patrolling _Dúnadan,_ a man of weary stature and a rugged face. His black hair was greasy and tied back with a leather strip and his beard was thin and short. Grey eyes wandered the forest as he travelled alongside them throughout the day and Maggie found him frighteningly aware of his surroundings.

When night settled, the man was efficient in making a small fire, throwing out his bedroll and set about to make whatever dinner he could from their combined supplies.

“You will enjoy your time in Rivendell,” Argonui, son of Arathorn the first, explained to her over the light of the fire. He placed a crooked bowl of slop into her hands and her fingers singed from the contact. “The Lord of the House is kind and patient, as are his sons and those in his dwelling. They forget themselves at times, and remember us only as children, but they are a good folk.”

“I will have to take your word for it.” Maggie answered, her gaze lingered on his face. ‘ _He can’t be a hundred and thirty three, he just can’t…_ ’ She had almost fallen off from her pony when Gandalf had introduced them. Maggie had made some wayward comment about a lad so young being left in the wild.

Her ignorance had seemed to both annoy the Ranger, and endear him. She stared down into her bowl and her mind was restless with thoughts. Belladonna had made mention that dwarves lived extensive lives, near on three hundred years. It was a little less damning and a lot less frightening to think her adopted race wasn’t alone in that fact. ‘ _Even if that means the elves are the only ones who remember us,_ ’ she sneered into her soup.

“May I inquire, Lady Margaret, as to how you believe Lord Elrond will help you?” Argonui tore into his flat bread and slurped at his soup. The sight made her smile over the lips of her bowl and she shrugged a shoulder.

“I have been told his healing powers are rivaled to none. I suppose if anyone is to have one last hope, it should be weighed upon his skills.” The ranger did not grin at her tease, but a small huff of acknowledgement was her reward. She found that this man was just as the others who patrolled the borders of Eriador; quiet, swift, and unassuming.

Only his curiosity at seeing a dwarf, a _female dwarf_ , brought him out from his shadows.

“I sincerely hope that you find the answer to your hurt, milady.” Argonui murmured.

Maggie waved a hand, “Stop that. That _milady_ nonsense, I have a beard same as you. Companions, at least. I have no status.”

Argonui and Gandalf spared a short look between themselves and Gandalf laughed into his pipe. Argonui turned to her and offered her a weak smile. “I would not have called you so at first, Margaret, for I had…” He trailed off and Maggie knew exactly why.

“You thought me male,” She grinned at the now embarrassed ranger. She laughed into her bread, “and you would not be the first, or the last, to think so.” She should have been just as uncomfortable as the poor man. Her beard had made her seem something she was not, but the ranger’s discomfort outweighed and lessened her worry.

Perhaps the beard would be good for something.

“It will be an interesting tale to tell the lads back at camp.” Argonui began to tease as he relaxed with her humor, “Now every one of them will wonder at the last dwarf they had seen, male or not?

Maggie and Gandalf snickered at the thought.

“How are the rest of your brethren, Ranger?” Gandalf inquired through his smoke. Argonui was quiet for a short time and seem to ponder the question. Maggie could see the tightness in his jawline and the tension in his shoulders as he set his bowl down.

“Steady, wizard. They seem to do well under my command, such as it is.” He finally answered.

“Command?” Maggie interrupted. “You’re a leader?”

Argonui ducked his head. “In a sense, since we do not hold any true title beyond those that are given to us by the inhabitants of Middle-Earth. We are mostly wanders and seen as vagabonds by others.”

“How come?” Maggie tilted her head. “I know you, or at least, _of_ you. Belladonna mentioned that rangers guarded our borders more often than the Bounders do.”

“Did she now?” Argonui sounded surprised, but Maggie could not see his face through his hair or the shadows of the fire. “It is… uncommon that one of the little folk would notice us.”

Gandalf and Maggie shared a snort, and then Maggie laughed. “It is strange, but Belladonna is far past what one would call normal for Shire folk. I thank you, sir, for not calling them halflings.”

“Aye,” Argonui bowed his head. “I had a rock thrown at me once by a youngling for saying the word. Disrespectful, he told me.”

Maggie laughed harder at that and nearly dropped her bowl, “I can believe that! Those little creatures are troublesome bugs. No leash strong enough to hold them back and no stick fast enough to catch them.”

She got a real chuckle out of the ranger with that one and Maggie could feel her cheeks hurt from smiling. It felt wonderful to be in the presence of someone who didn’t judge her for the way she appeared or the size of her feet. He didn’t even seem to mind the beard (beyond the fact that he embarrassed himself) and Maggie preened under the attention.

‘ _God, I must be really deprived if I’m practically fawning over someone just for smiling at me. Jesus, save me._ ’ She flushed up from her neck and immediately dropped her face down to her bowl to finish her soup. Last thing she needed was a stranger thinking she was completely infatuated with him.

Not that she was. Absolutely not.

Maggie hurriedly finished her meal and chomped at her flat beard before giving her companions hasty ‘good nights’ and then she scurried into her bedroll for the evening.

0 o 0

Argonui stayed with them until the very edge of the last of the trees of the Trollshaws. He waved them off and gave Maggie a charming grin with a kiss to the back of her hand. The heat came straight up from her chest to her chin at the gesture and she stuttered a good-bye as they parted. A nearly a year without the attention of a man and here she was coming apart at the seams over one polite kiss.

She hoped the dwarves were ugly enough that she could restrain her nerves, because if a ragged, ill-smelling, unkempt man was enough to make her blush like she was back in high school, she was going to be in for a world of hurt and embarrassment. Where was a chastity belt when she needed one? It was some relief to realize a few hours into the ride to Rivendell that Argonui had been nothing _but_ polite.

She kept forgetting that even though these people felt familiar, the humans sometimes more so than others, they were nothing like the people back home. These folks had no smartphones, no calendars, no colleges, no structured and Homeowner’s-Associated neighborhoods. They were wild and free and unruly by her societal standards.

The more she thought about it, the more Maggie appreciated Argonui’s gesture, past the simple contact and warmth it provided. Back home, such an action would have been considered cute and polite as well, but the unspoken, ulterior motive would have been different. Many would have taken the kiss and in the back of their minds would have thought, ‘what do you want?’

Argonui had been utterly sincere in his farewell and Maggie knew it was the reason she floundered at his touch. Even as muddy, maggoty, and swashbuckling as he was, his intentions were honorable.

“Margaret?” Gandalf’s staff tapped her boot in the stirrup.

“Yes?” She absently replied and brought her gaze up. “Is something the matter?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet, my dear. What is on your mind?” His voice had turned from the patronizing, often stern, tone of an escort to that of the old man he was, weary and kind. Suddenly, Maggie felt her throat constrict and an infuriating prickle of tears clouded her vision.

“I think I am scared.” She replied honestly. She swallowed and reached up to rub at her eyes with a heavy sigh. “I am so very scared.”

Gandalf reached over and took her reins and pulled Brussel closer to his horse. “Come, Margaret. Tell me what troubles you. What has frightened you? Is it being away from Belladonna and Bungo?”

“No,” Maggie answered, even though it was partially true after a month’s time of traveling. “I am scared for everything I left behind. I am scared I will not… I will not survive here.”

“Margaret. Oh, my dear.” Gandalf pulled both animals to a stop and he leaned over to place a hand on her head. “We seem to forget you are still very young by the ways of your people. A child who should still be with her mother, and here you are, wondering in the wild in search of answers.”

The tears slipped out and Maggie fought back a sob. She couldn’t stop it now and she truly couldn’t understand where the painful pop of emotion had escaped from within her. She swallowed again, desperately trying to find her voice. Gandalf’s hand smoothed down over her rough hair and he hummed to her.

“Though we may never know what has happened to you, Margaret, I hope that you remember you will never be alone in this life.”

She could only nod her head, even when she knew Gandalf was unaware of how much he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me forever, but I got it up!


	9. A Most Gracious Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie finds that not all worries are founded...

**January 2891 - Rivendell**

"Is it more than you expected, Margaret?"

"You are jesting, wizard. How does anyone expect _this?_ " The homestead was downright _cozy_ , even as they looked down from so high up on the entrance hill. The roofs were tinted an earthy shade of sand and dirt, with trees that rose up in between the junctions. The craftsmen work of the structure was something even her untrained eye could appreciate.

The pair of them made the descent into the valley where the home rested, surrounded by a river and hill peaks. The snow glittered over whatever edges it could find to cover and it gave the whole area a very surreal feeling. Maggie nearly lost her footing once or twice as they crossed over and came along under the entranceway of the main gate.

"Do all elves live in homes such as these?" Maggie looked at Gandalf with curiosity.

The wizard shook his head. "No. There are other realms of elven territory. _Lothlórien,_ a kingdom over the Misty Mountains, is home to Silvan Elves and they are housed among the high canopies. Another, _Mirkwood_ near Dol Guldur, is home to Sindar Elves and they live in the dense forest roots."

"Wait, what?" Maggie blinked, her mind reeling. "There is… they're different?"

"Why, of course!" He laughed. "The ones here are Silvan, wood elves. Sindar are grey elves."

"Are dwarves different, too?" Maggie followed Gandalf up the steps, but his gaze was elsewhere before them. Maggie glanced up and felt her ankles lock at the sight before her. The man was long and tall, his handsome face softened by a greeting smile and his dark hair appeared smooth as silk.

Like a zipper, her back tightened and her shoulders squared. This man was definitely different than the other elves they had met just a few days before, and it came through in his smile and dark eyes. The elf stepped down and Gandalf rose up on heavy feet to hug the other. ' _Odd, he doesn't seem the type to hug._ ' Then again, most of the elves seemed too unreal to touch in her mind.

A slew of words flew between them and Maggie was lost to the language they spoke. They laughed together and she felt decidedly ignored. Her gaze shifted from the men in front of her to the paths that led up into the homestead. Another elf stood just off into the shadow of a pillar and the creature smiled at her when their gazes met.

' _Noooope._ ' She immediately dropped her gaze and shuffled her feet. She felt horribly dirty under the scrutiny of the unknown elf and she wished for a hot shower to scrub away the grime that had collected on her person over her long travel.

"Margaret!" Gandalf called.

"What, yes!" She snapped to attention. "I apologize. Lost in thought."

"Indeed." Gandalf huffed with a tap of his staff. "Step up here and introduce yourself. This is Lord Elrond, Master of Imladris." The dark elf next to Gandalf bowed his head lightly to Maggie and for some odd reason; she felt her skin flush hotly around her collar.

"Margaret, lonely dwarf of The Shire." She answered. Gandalf rolled her eyes at the introduction, but she was pleased to see that Elrond took to her humor and grinned lightly.

"Gandalf's letters have mentioned you, Margaret. It is good to meet you. Come, we shall not allow you to be travel weary much longer." Elrond raised his hand to her and stepped aside. Maggie swallowed and scurried up the rest of the stairs to get past him, Gandalf grumbling the whole while about her manners.

She would have to tell him it was incredibly hard to keep to manners when angels walked among the mortals. The elf that had hidden away in the shadows ghosted forward with another at his left, a female. Maggie felt her shoulders sag, ' _Oh this is just fuckin' unfair. I should've expected the women to be stupidly beautiful, too._ ' The woman was just as lengthy as the men, but contrasted sharply with her auburn hair and bright blue eyes.

The she-elf had an easy, if wary, smile on her face and greeted Maggie with a graceful curtsy that slowed time. "Greetings, I am Enelya. I was asked to escort you to your rooms, my lady."

"I am Lindir, my lady." The male bowed his head and then turned to Gandalf behind Maggie. "I hope there was no trouble in your journey?"

Gandalf waved a hand and nudged Maggie into Enelya's awaiting presence with the tip of his staff, "No, none at all, Lindir. We met Elladan and Elrohir along the path. They were patrolling, were they not?" Maggie shot a look over her shoulder at the old wizard and briefly wondered if he had a census book hidden under all those robes. How else could it be possible that he seemed to know everyone and their mother?

"Yes, they are due back in a fortnight." Lindir answered. Maggie skirted around them and smiled up at Enelya, unsure of where she was to go.

"Come, my lady, your room is waiting." Enelya led them away down the tiled hall and toward the center of the homestead. Maggie's eyes were glued to the whispering canopy overhead and the stalwart trunks of the trees. Everything glittered in her gaze, even the leaves, and she thought for sure she may have stepped into a dream.

"Is it always like this?" Maggie ventured into the silence between them. Enelya blinked, perhaps surprised, and turned her blue-corn gaze down to Maggie.

"My pardon, Lady Margaret?" Enelya glanced to follow Maggie's gaze. "Ah, do you inquire as to the state of Imladris? It changes with the seasons, as do all things, but it maintains healthy warmth from within."

"I can feel it." Maggie said wondrously. She stumbled a little ways ahead of her elven escort and found that the hallway broke into different winding paths further into the homestead. Maggie paused at the dividing line and spoke over her shoulder. "Would it be impolite to walk around? To look?"

Enelya frowned prettily at her words, "I… do not understand, my lady. Do you wish for a tour?"

"What?" Maggie took her turn to frown at Enelya. It struck her, then, that the dialect she may have learned from the hobbits, along with her butchering work of the language, probably confused her companion. "Ah, I apologize. Westron is not my first language, and I am still learning. Some words escape me. What is it that you said?"

"Oh. Oh! I see," Enelya's face sweetened with a smile. "Do forgive me for my assumptions. What I had said was if you would like a _tour_ , a journey around Imladris?"

Maggie grinned. "Yes! I would enjoy that very much. Thank you for your patience." Something else softened in Enelya at Maggie's words and the she-elf bowed her head to Maggie with a chuckle.

"Of course, my lady, I will be happy to escort you wherever you wish. It is not often that we find… oh, forgive me once again." With a blush of embarrassment, Enelya's face colored and the simple change made her appear much more human. Maggie tilted her head, confused.

"Find what?" Maggie asked. "Am I strange?" She could recall the number of times Gandalf (and Belladonna) had mentioned some sort of spilt blood between the factions of elves and dwarves, but Maggie had done nothing to insult the other woman. Or had she? ' _Damn it._ '

"Not strange, my lady." Enelya's reply was soft and shame took her features. "Dwarves are so very wary of the world around them. I must admit, your personality is not what I expected."

"I must be funnier." Maggie joked. The unexpected jest did exactly as Maggie planned and Enelya laughed and her shoulders eased. The rest of the walk to the room was gentle and easy; Enelya was more forthcoming with answers once she was made aware of Maggie's curiosity and wonder.

The room she was given was huge. Maggie entered with Enelya behind her and the room spread out before her feet. Large arched windows lined the farthest wall from the door and the bed stood between her and the billowing curtains. Off to her left was a wooden separator and hidden in its shadow was a low tub and a few bars of hard soap.

" _Oh, this is so awesome._ " Maggie's English slipped out.

"Lady Margaret?" The she-elf stepped toward the divider and peered over to the tub. "Is something wrong?"

Maggie pinched her own cheek, "No, Lady Enelya, I forget myself at times." She laughed and released her skin, then turned toward the bed and the chest near it. "Is this all for me? Is it not too big?"

Enelya gave her a funny look with a flare of her nose, "We may be mistaken, but we were informed that dwarves have a love of architecture that is open and wide. We found the room best suited to previously known tastes."

"Oh, I see." Maggie gently tucked her traveling bag under her bed frame. "Then I thank you for the consideration. I am accustomed to the homes of shirelings, small and cozy."

"If the room is uncomfortable for you, we may yet find another." Enelya smiled nervously at Maggie's strange habits. "I could inform my lord in the evening."

"No, this is fine, truly. I will not appear ungrateful, it is only unexpected. Thank you." Maggie was proud of herself, Belladonna and Bungo would have cheered at her manners. Elf or not, the ones she had met so far gave her very little reason to be irritable. She would really have to find out what had happened, if all elves were going to treat her like a walking bomb.

Enelya bowed her head with a full smile, "Of course. If you require anything, the Sun Room is down the hall and to your right from there. There is someone there to help you find your way, in most cases."

Maggie returned the bow and grinned, "I will be sure to put them to good use."

0 o 0

The rest of the day was spent with her gallivanting through Rivendell. Honestly, she must have been such a hilarious sight for the elves that inhabited the area. Once her things had been left in her room and she found the Sun Room mentioned by Enelya, she bolted for the open air (as if she hadn't spent a month surrounded by nature already).

The elves she passed were so startled by her enthusiasm for the beauty of their home that they would stop and stare as she inspected artwork, stonework, and the craftsmanship of the wood. Hell, even the gardens were a testament to patience and beauty, despite being empty for the winter. Where the hobbits enjoyed freedom and did very little to keep the plants in personal gardens in order, the elves went to every measure to insure that every plant had its place.

Maggie was mindful of where her hefty feet would land when she meandered through the gardens. It was astonishing to see some of the elves knelt along the muddy rows, tending to the barren dirt for the next tillage. She remained briefly at the side of a nearby elf and asked an uncomfortable amount of questions concerning the gardening.

After the elf realized she wasn't belittling his methods and instead comparing them to Belladonna's, the lesson flew out of her hands and into the control of the surrounding gardeners. They listened intently to some of the tricks she had seen the Gamgees use, and a few Belladonna wouldn't mind if she shared.

Unbeknownst to Maggie, by the end of the day half of the homestead was talking about her. Lord Elrond and _Mithrandir_ received updates periodically through Lindir or another who had spotted her. The elf-lord and wizard conversed in the main office, away from the main living space of the domicile, the late afternoon sun scintillating over the floor and furniture.

"Curious creature," Elrond murmured, pouring _Mithrandir_ a glass of wine. "Your letters mentioned she suffered from a head injury, memory loss. Others with the same ailments are not so…"

"Lively? Spirited?" _Mithrandir_ 's mirth was lost in his drink. "She certainly has a way, but not all dwarves are sharp around the edges. She has also spent nearly a year relearning how to exist."

"Though, her recovery was not with her kin." Elrond pointed a look to the wizard. "You left her in the care of hobbits."

_Mithrandir_ ignored the look. "Belladonna and Bungo Baggins had found her, and she had been with them for more than a week or two before I arrived. She had settled into a routine and with no way to communicate, Belladonna had suggested against moving her."

"I suppose that was best. Avoiding any disorientation with such a condition is sound advice." Elrond sighed. "And you wish that I examine her? What do you expect me to find?"

"I do not know, my friend." _Mithrandir_ was grave and his brow lowered. "She claims to have no memory of her life before being found on the side of the road, yet she says things, mentions things…"

"You do not think she has forgotten all." Elrond concluded. _Mithrandir_ gave a small, sharp nod. Elrond rested his cheek against the bend of his fingers and was silent for a moment. "Very well," he said quietly, "I shall see to her and any aid that I may be able to offer to her, I will."

_Mithrandir_ beamed. "Good, and if these murmurs of her wanderings through your home are anything to her character, she will be much more receptive to help than her fellows."

"One can only hope." Elrond smiled. The elf-lord stood from behind his desk and within a few strides, he was at his door. Lindir sat at a chair in the adjoining room, a book on his lap and the sun through a window behind him. He looked up at the door's movement and stood at the sight of Elrond.

"My Lord?" Lindir placed away his book, a leaflet between the pages.

"Send for the young dwarf and ask that dinner be brought to us in my study." Elrond requested. With a short bow, Lindir turned and was away before Elrond could close his door. There was a twinkle in _Mithrandir_ 's eye that Elrond could not decipher, but he was hopeful it was no more mischief than he was accustomed to with his children.

It was a quarter of an hour more before the young dwarfling had appeared in his office doorway. The creature was small in the terms of Men and Elves, but she was appropriately sized for her kind and age. Her brow was not as heavy as those of the male variety and her body sloped gently under her leather and cloth. Margaret's brown eyes smiled along with her lips and despite the scar that lined her face, she was pleasantly sweet-faced.

An oddity to her kind, to be sure, and the beard that filled in sparingly along her jaw gave away to her coming age. The _dam_ claimed to be only twenty or so, according to _Mithrandir's_ letters, but she spoke and acted much like someone who had lived twice her years. She stood before them and bowed haltingly at the waist and Elrond knew that his presence unnerved her slightly.

"Good evening, Lady Margaret." He greeted her kindly. The _dam_ relaxed her shoulders and smiled for him. "I hope that Rivendell has given you a much needed reprieve, though… I hear you did little in the way of resting."

The female's face reddened considerably and for a moment Elrond believed to have offended her. Oft it would happen with the males of her kind, as the smallest slight from an elf, physical or spoken, set them ablaze in their tempers. The little creature surprised him, though, and laughed deeply from her chest.

"I have a difficult time to sit still." She answered with a grin. _Mithrandir_ chortled from Elrond's right.

"Margaret, 'I have a difficult time _sitting_ still.' Try, my girl. Remember your adjectives." _Mithrandir_ corrected her softly. The _dam_ nodded and repeated her sentence, correctly this time, until the wizard was satisfied. Elrond smiled into his glass and thought that perhaps she would not be as obstinate as others.

"You sent for me, my lord?" She asked unsteadily, her words strong in bones but lacking grace.

"Yes," he replied and gestured to a chair opposite of him. She sat with no more prompting and tucked her knees together with her hands upon her lap. She was a curious creature, indeed, to have the manners of an Elf and the mirth of a Halfling. " _Mithrandir_ has told me of your predicament, and he has suggested that I may be of some assistance to you."

Then, curiously still, her face hardened. Gone was the laughter in her cheeks and instead a cold stone took her features. Elrond narrowed his eyes and wondered, no, this creature may not be as ailed as they believed. She clenched her jaw tightly and the muscles jumped under her tan skin, but her words were measured.

"I am not so sure, my lord. I came because I wish to know – I am more…" She stuttered to a stop and Elrond waited patiently for her. Dwarves, he had learned, were not to be pushed in any matter. The path must first be found by them and only then may they speak on it. She gripped her chin and scratched at it harshly.

"I do not know how to say it." She murmured to them. He spared a glance at the wizard but found nothing in _Mithrandir's_ face. Margaret continued, unknowing. "I know, but I do not. I am… aware, but I cannot say."

"You speak in tongues, my dear dwarrow-dam." _Mithrandir_ reprimanded her gently. "We are here to help you, not solve endless riddles." The _dam's_ face faltered and Elrond could spy a strike of fear that shot through her eyes and twitched in her cheeks and neck.

"I believe you speak as plainly as you are able, Margaret." Elrond interjected with patience. "If I am to understand you – you are aware of whom you are, that is, your origins?" The _dam_ gave him the smallest of nods and Elrond pressed further. "You do not forget yourself, only you cannot tell us who you are?"

Another damning nod and he could see her lip tremble.

_Mithrandir_ shifted hotly in his chair, "Why only do you mention this now, Margaret? What of your family? If you knew who –"

"They are not here." The dwarf interrupted fearfully. "I am afraid to say because I do not wish to be found… seen… I am stable. I am not – what is the word? For this?" She pointed to her temple and her fingers fluttered in a tight circle around the spot she had marked.

Elrond was stunned, "… you do not wish to be seen as senseless? Deranged. You are frightened that we shall mistrust your word."

"Yes." Margaret sighed in relief. "I am stable; there is nothing wrong with my mind. I am only frightened that the truth may be bad."

"At the very least, you have not killed anyone, have you?" _Mithrandir_ murmured angrily, but when the _dam_ did not respond, the wizard shot her a withering look. "You have not, have you?"

"No. Only…" Margaret's gaze dropped into her hands in her lap. "I should be dead. When I was found by Bella and Bungo, I was – I had an accident. Very bad. I should not have lived. _I should be dead_." The last of her words were softly spoken and disbelief rang in them that Elrond was pained to hear it. She believed it, heartily, that she now lived on borrowed time.

"Will you tell us now of what happened to you?" Elrond prodded gently. "Will you trust us with your story, my lady?" The look that she pinned him with was dry and broken. She had long shed all her tears. She straightened her back and he could see her throat swallow.

Then, she told them everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, may have ended on a strange note, but I'm proud I didn't take months to get this out! Let me know what you think. :D


	10. Habor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maggie finds a place to hide within the storm.

Maggie sat cold in her chair before the Lord Elrond. Gandalf paced swiftly behind her and she could catch the scent of his pipe-weed. She inhaled deeply and sighed heavily through a tight mouth. Her eyes felt heated from within her skull and she wasn’t sure if it was the onset of tears that was the cause. A thick hand came up to her brow and she absently rubbed at her hairline. The silence was starting to buzz in her ears. She spared a quick glance up to Lord Elrond and the Elf looked at her over his folded hands.

“I know it is strange.” Maggie tried for a second time into the silence. The first time, Gandalf had scoffed at her and took to a window behind her, where he paced now. “But you must believe me. Why would I say these things if they… I know I am not mad.”

“I am inclined to believe you.” Elrond said at last, his voice coupled with a weariness that roughened his words. “I have heard many strange tales over my lifetime, but none quite as strange as this.”

“Another world.” Gandalf grumbled. “It is a whole other world aside from ours and so vastly different.”

“Perhaps not,” Elrond interrupted as he stood from his desk. Maggie vaguely noted that their dinners had been forgotten, on the edge of Elrond’s desk, the food gray and wilted. The low sun doused the room in a soft fire and she watched as the Elf moved along the edge of his desk toward her, his dark eyes intense and searching. Maggie swallowed.

“It may have been many centuries ago, Ages now, that it has happened… but there were once foreigners to this world, as well.” Elrond stated calmly, his gaze shifted from Maggie up to Gandalf and she felt her body melt with relief. “What is to say this could not have happened to her?”

She could hear Gandalf’s robe whisper as he stopped, but she wouldn’t turn to look at him. There was a vomit-inducing turbulence in her stomach from the swirl of emotions that crowded her organ. Gandalf had been her companion now for a handful of months, while they traveled and as she stayed with the Hobbits, to have him treat her like a stranger now…

She shifted in her seat again and sat up a bit straighter.

“I should have brought her to you sooner, Lord Elrond.” Gandalf lamented. There was a sigh from behind her and Maggie’s spine stiffened. The Elf spared her a brief, warm look and Maggie attempted a small smile. _‘He’s trying to help. Give him credit for that, at least.’_

“Sooner or later is now no longer the point. She is here now and we must help her.” Lord Elrond folded his hands into his sleeves and took a few careful steps behind Maggie toward Gandalf. The young woman (dwarf, she must remind herself) slumped in her chair again. Her hands came up to her forehead and she roughly pressed them up over her hairline.

“We may yet take her to Ered Luin. If she is to stay here as I suspect, she must learn to be a part of her culture.” Gandalf’s words cut through Maggie with a heat that crippled her. She released her hair from her grip and turned in her seat, face aflame from embarrassment.

“And what if I don’t want to go?” Maggie snapped. Gandalf jerked, startled at her outburst, but Elrond only turned to her smoothly with a brow furrowed with concern. Maggie continued as she stood from her seat and briefly tipped it on its hind legs before she caught it with a quick hand. “What if I want to stay with Bella and Bungo?”

“You cannot.” Gandalf countered with a step forward. “The world of the Shirelings is far too different than what your world should be now. You are a dwarf, my dear, and whatever you were before does not change that fact.”

“I was human before,” Maggie spat. Elrond shifted subtly as if to intercept her and Maggie stopped in her tracks, seething. “I was human before and I never asked for this! I never asked to be brought here, I never asked to be dropped naked into – I was never asked if any of this was what _I_ wanted!”

“It was for your own – ” Gandalf tried again, the foot of his staff bouncing against the stone floor.

“ _Gandalf, my hand to God if you say ‘it was for your own good!’_ ” Maggie roared in English. She could feel the heat rupture from its place in her stomach and up to her chest; her anger flooded her cheeks and scorched her ears. The gentle shift of Elrond’s robes snapped Maggie from her fury and she brought her gaze up to the Elf, ashamed.

“You are correct.” Elrond soothed with a face that spoke of endless understanding. Maggie’s guilt tripled and weighted her ribs like stones. “You were never asked. You have survived here in whatever way you could. You adapted, you overcame your obstacles and we must not ignore that.”

“You cannot go home.” Gandalf returned. His voice was gentler now in the wake of Elrond’s interruption. “We must find you a place here and for you, Margaret, that is with the dwarves. You do not wish to be an outcast among them; they are a hard and secretive people.”

“I found a place.” Maggie muttered with a scratchy throat. She cleared it and brought her gaze up to Gandalf. “It is with Bella and Bungo. I do not care about the dwarves. If – I want to stay with my Hobbits. I did not even wish to be here,” Maggie shot a quick look at Elrond, “… with all due respect.”

Elrond smirked at her and Maggie’s heart fluttered strangely. “I understand. Perhaps our circumstances are not as we wish them to be, and we will make the best of what has become of the situation.”

“Lord Elrond?” Gandalf questioned. The wizard’s fuzzy brows lifted over his eyes and the Elf cast him a sideways glance.

“Your original intention was to have her brought here to be examined. She is sound of mind, if not of body. The spring months are upon us, it is a good of a time as ever for learning.” Elrond turned toward her with a genial smile, “Margaret, would you like to stay with us for the spring? Here, we can teach you in comfort, with whatever knowledge we have of the Dwarves.”

_‘At least he’s asking.’_

Maggie considered it, heavily. She had already missed her birthday with Bilbo, but if she stayed here, it would get Gandalf to relent and maybe have her home in time by – _‘Next winter. Oh God, it took us forever to get out here, and then traveling back through the snow and ice?’_

“You are free to go back to The Shire, Margaret.” The Elf was at her side and he bent at the knee to be level with her gaze. “You are not a prisoner here, and though like-minds would prefer if you learned of your new life, it is your life, ultimately, and you shall decide what to do with it.”

“May I think on it?” Maggie asked quietly. She had to stop being childish. As much as she wanted to rebel against Gandalf’s heavy-handed dealing and interfering, she couldn’t hold off on whatever _this_ was, forever. She was stuck in this world and though the idea chilled her lungs and brought tears to eyes, she had to face it.

“Of course,” Elrond nodded his head. He stood to his full height and shared a look with the wizard. The old man looked incredibly put off, but Margaret could see he would bow to the Elf’s reasoning. She sighed and tension flowed out from her shoulders.

“Now.” Elrond spoke into the quiet between the three of them. “Our dinner has grown cold. I shall have new plates brought in and –”

“If you would not mind,” Maggie winced, “… I would like to go back to my room.”

“Margaret.” Gandalf scolded her. His pale face had begun to turn red from her insolence, but Maggie couldn’t bring herself to care. The old man had already gone behind her back throughout all of this and she wasn’t completely ready to give up all of her rebelliousness.

“You may be excused, Margaret.” Elrond held a hand out toward Gandalf, as if his presence alone would withhold against the wizard. Maggie could only bow her head and fix the chair back against Elrond’s desk before hurrying out of the room. She passed Lindir through the adjoining room and the Elf blinked at her trotting form, but did not stop her.

It wasn’t until Maggie made it to her room that she burst into hot tears.

0 o 0

When Enelya entered the room, she could spy the young dwarf nestled in a corner of a balcony, a cover from the bed thrown over her head. She had been informed by Lord Elrond that the dwarrowdam would be distressed, but what Enelya could feel rolling through the open door was more than just distress, it was the caved feeling of sorrow.

The redheaded Elf placed the tray she held down on the stand near the bed and glided over to where the dwarf sat. There was a space of silence between them before Margaret turned her gaze upward and blinked misty dark eyes at Enelya.

“Yes, ma’am?” The dam murmured. It was peculiar thing to Enelya the mannerisms that this creature possessed. The other inhabitants of Imladris had expected hostility, they had expected that the young dam would turn her nose up at them and strut or skitter as her kind were wont to do in the presence of Elves. This little creature did no such thing, and walked among them like equals. Her curiosity was brightly infectious and made most of them wonder.

The single fact that the dwarrowdam willingly ate their greens with little to no complaint was also a surprise.

“What is the matter?” Enelya hesitated for a moment. Most dwarves were opposed to Elfish company, but Margaret took most of their preconceptions and tossed them to the wind. Enelya gently lowered herself to the ground and folded her legs up under so that she allowed the dwarf as much space as possible.

Margaret laughed bitterly and wiped at the corner of her eyes. “I… I do not want to be a burden.” This, Enelya understood, was a common feeling among the dwarves. Since smoked from their mountain, the feeling of independence had become powerful and overbearing.

Enelya smiled politely and recited, “No one is a burden on the Last Homely House.”

“I am.” Margaret whispered back. “I do not belong here or anywhere, Miss Enelya. Do you know? Did the wizard tell you? I have no family. No friends. No… nothing. The only things I have are two little Hobbits, far away in The Shire.” Enelya paused and brought her blue gaze to Margaret’s hunched form. Now, Enelya thought to herself, now she understood the sorrow.

“If I may so bold, Margaret… what happened to your family?” Enelya ventured. It was a rare thing to have a dwarf in a conversational mood, even a sad one.

Margaret adjusted under her blanket. “I do not have one. Not… not of dwarves. Only Hobbits.”

“You do not have one?” Enelya parroted, surprised. “Did they abandon you? Is that why you are left in the care of Hobbits?”

“I had one; b-but I do not remember them. They are long forgotten.” Margaret muttered in the low pitch of her voice. Enelya’s eyes fluttered and a hand came to rest over her rapidly beating heart. Was this why the dwarf was so strange? She had no memory of her people, of whom she was or where she had come from? Enelya felt her heart climb up her throat, for now the young dam was so much more than just another dwarf.

She was a child without a proper home. Enelya nearly opened her mouth to bestow her sympathies to the young thing, but remembered with alacrity that dwarves could only taste the bitterness of pity, not sincerity. Though she could see that Margaret was different from her kin, she was not about to test it. Instead, she said; “I see. You believe yourself a burden on those who now must care for you.”

“The Hobbits,” Margaret agreed, “And now… perhaps Lord Elrond. I do not know what to do.”

“What has the Master of the House offered you, Margaret?” Enelya quietly questioned. The Elf’s chest tightened at the sight of the dwarrowdam, bundled in her blanket and seeking refuge from the world around her. Oh, how strange the world must have been to her, a wandering soul left to float between the cares of those who found the time for her.

“He said that I could stay here… to learn my… to learn my words. For dwarves, my k-kin.” Margaret’s voice stuttered violently and Enelya was alarmed to hear the sob that echoed up from within the dwarf’s arms. The dwarrowdam curled into herself and her sobs shook her body.

Enelya shifted forward on her knees and placed her hands softly along the dwarf’s shoulders. The dam did not still at her touch as Enelya expected her to, and instead turned and fell into Enelya’s hold. Startled, but not to be caught cold-hearted, Enelya held her steadily against her breast and ran a soothing hand down the dam’s coarse hair.

“I want to go home,” Margaret cried lowly, “I want m-my family back. I do not kn-know what to do or wh-where to go – how am I to belong anywhere?”

“Shh, Margaret.” Enelya continued to brush down the dam’s unruly hair. The small creature continued to cry and Enelya felt her heart go out to the young thing. She could feel the fright and loneliness that plagued Margaret, a distant and heavy darkness that consumed her heart.

“How old are you, my dear?” Enelya asked gently against the dwarf’s head. Margaret wiped her face into the fabric of her cover and inhaled shakily. She did not answer at first, and Enelya tried again with a pat to Margaret’s head.

“Twenty one years.” Margaret finally replied.

“Oh, Margaret!” Enelya gasped. Though much may not have been known about dwarves, it was well understood that dwarves under the age of seventy years were still considered children. Enelya closed her eyes and dropped her chin gently over Margaret’s head. A young dwarrowdam with no home or family, with no lineage or culture to stand on, and here she was traveling to and fro under the care of a wizard instead of a mother.

“The Lord Elrond is kind and wise, Margaret. You would do well under his tutelage. We have other scholars here as well who could assist you.” Enelya felt Margaret shudder in her arms and the Elf instinctively held on tighter. Enelya rested her cheek against Margaret’s hair and sighed, “You would have a place here, my dear child, or with your Hobbits. None would dare turn you away.”

Many in the world would, Enelya knew, but she would not crush the soul of one so young, so soon. She stayed with the young creature until her sobs quietened and slowed, her breathing drew evenly, and her weight slumped against Enelya fully. The Elf sighed briefly and stood with care; the dwarf held up in her arms and carried to the bed. She untangled the cover to tuck it in around the small frame. Enelya stood back and crossed her arms loosely under her bosom.

“We shall find a place for you, little one.” In all her years, Enelya would not have fathomed saying such words to a dwarf, but there was an exception for everything. She picked up the tray that had been left forgotten on the stand and swiftly exited the room silently.

0 o 0

It was a week or so before Elrond had the young dwarf in his presence again. She approached with caution, his sons were in the room and from what he had heard of their first meeting, and it had not gone smoothly. Elrond stood away from his sons and gestured to a chair as Margaret entered, but she shook her head and stayed closer to the door, her hands behind her back.

“I would like to stay.” She said unceremoniously. He could see her nervousness rattle her shoulders as his sons circled around behind him. “I… you are right. I am a part of this world and I cannot ignore it. I would like to stay a-and learn.” She spied his sons behind him and shuffled uneasily on her feet. She had taken well to the presence of Elves, Enelya and Lindir being favorites, but it seemed not all Elves would be favored as highly.

“We would be honored to have you stay with us, Margaret.” Elrond dipped his head toward her.

“B-but, may I ask for something?” Margaret’s voice was low and shy, but it held no fear in her tone. Elrond smiled and nodded for her to continue. “In the winter… may I go home? I-I can come back in spring again… I just… I want to see Bilbo. A-and Bella and Bungo, of course.”

“Of course.” Elrond smiled faintly. It was a small request, and one that could easily be fulfilled if they traveled before the full onslaught of winter. “And you would like to come back in the spring? There is a lot to learn, Margaret. Will this be a yearly thing?”

The dwarrowdam nodded her head. “I would like it to be. I-I… I do not want to be seen as ignorant. I want to learn. Belladonna would – it would be best.” The young creature stuttered the closer his sons came to his desk and near her, but she kept her chin level and her eyes wide.

“Then so shall it be. We will inform Gandalf tonight when he returns, and if you would like, I may assist you in writing to your family?” Elrond offered kindly. He knew better than to insult a dwarf, but he like many of his kindred in Imladris, had come to realize that Margaret was of a different sort. True to her previous, humanly nature, she smiled.

“I would like that, very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH. Seriously. Thank you all for waiting it out as long as you have.


	11. Foudroyant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie attempts to learn without choking...

Key:

**“Bold”** is to be considered Khuzdul

_“Italics”_ is to be considered Sindarin

“Underlined” is to be considered English

* * *

The next morning Maggie had her letter for Bungo and Bella written up and sent out. Elrond had been gracious enough to remain silent as she struggled with what to say. It would be a handful of months before she saw them again, and letters could only do so much. His sons were suspiciously absent and the rest of the homestead quiet as the day broke over the rooftops. Gandalf hadn’t appeared yet and Maggie wondered if their little hissy-fit last night was still on his mind. Not that it mattered; Elrond had finished her letter and sealed it for travel before he handed it off to Lindir. She found herself escorted through The Last House with a graceful and quiet Elrond.  
  
“Thannor will be your instructor.” Elrond informed her softly as they walked down one of the long hallways. “He is well versed in Westron and ancient Khuzdul used in the forgotten days, so you will benefit from his teachings.”  
  
“Ancient?” Maggie looked up. “The word – it means old? Very old?” She still had a tough time with some words. Full sentences she could understand with little effort, but every once and a while, a blank murmur of a word unfamiliar to her would hiccup her comprehension, context clues could only do so much. Elrond nodded.  
  
“It is unfortunate, but we know only a fraction of what could be construed – could be _understood_ , that is to say, as modern-day Khuzdul. You will learn that, as well.” Elrond’s hasty explanation of an unknown word at the sight of her confused expression sent her into a chuckle. The Elf shot her a faintly amused look and continued, “Dwarves are secretive with their culture. Language, rites, rituals, and even some of their craftsmanship, are rare things to be found beyond their mountainous homes.”  Maggie snorted. She was definitely in favor of privacy, but to hide a whole population? That was madness, a straight path to extinction.

“Yes, I know.” Elrond replied to her snort cryptically. “We will do as best we may with what little we know. It… Hm.” He sighed heavily and his hands fluttered out to twist his sleeves around his wrists as he folded them over his stomach, hidden. “ _Mithrandir_ was not wrong. You would learn the most among your kin, as you have the benefits of being young and female.” Maggie raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged ever so gently with one shoulder.

“Secretive though they may be, it is well known how deeply their loyalties and grudges lie. For a young creature as yourself, you would be gladly adopted into a family with no children or with only one or two, and raised into a proper dwarrowdam, one worthy of her station and right to citizenship.” There was a buzz in between her ears and Maggie stared at the floor with a shake of her head. It was one thing to think she could manage with the Elves, but another world entirely with the dwarves. Bonding with Hobbits wasn’t too difficult, they were easy-going (if a bit xenophobic at first) and eagerly offered their homes and food to strangers once the initial shock was over (it was just very un-Hobbit-y to do otherwise).

Dwarves, though? She wasn’t sure if she could attempt such a thing. Enelya had told her bits and pieces of her experiences with passing caravans of Dwarves, and their general lack of manners or companionship. At the time, Maggie had scrunched her nose at it, but after, she wondered how much of that was actual demeanor or just the grungy blood that flowed between the Elves and the Dwarves. She wasn’t so oblivious to see that it was solely her presence that tickled the sensibilities of the populace around her, but rather what they knew of Dwarves and had come to expect.

“Margaret?” Elrond chirruped lightly. A rapid blink gave her a moment and she looked up to see the furrowed and darkened face of her escort. She swallowed, alarmed that she had allowed herself to drift away in her thoughts and she hastily bowed her head.

“M-my apologies,” Maggie croaked. “I was just thinking. I – It is too soon. I would not d-do well with the Dwarves. I am not like them.” She was still human at heart, still enjoyed her grooming and bathing, her table-manners and her quiet life with the Hobbits. She didn’t believe she could handle the turmoil and toiling that the Dwarven lifestyle promised, she wasn’t hardened, she was a city-girl with a graphic designer degree and that was of no value in this world. Elrond nodded his head and a faint smirk touched the corner of his lips.

“Yes. With your story, such a life and teachings would be more of a hindrance than a boon. I believe you made the wisest choice available to you. Here, you will learn in comfort and peace and hopefully the chaos of the world will leave you be.” He held out a hand to gesture through a door and with another blink, Maggie’s head whipped to shoot her gaze down one end of the hall to the other, surprised. She glanced up at Elrond whose eyebrow ticked questioningly.

“First time I have walked and not fallen while I don’t look.” She teased with broken words. A soft smile painted Elrond’s face and once again, the warmth spread from her chest up to her bearded face. It was with a helpless hope that she prayed their beauty would numb her. His sons, Elladan and Elrohir had been painfully stunning, and Enelya with her flame-kissed hair and ocean eyes was a bit too much to bear in some moments. She had come to realize that _all_ in the House of Rivendell were much the same, tall, ethereal, and dazzling. Maggie would have classified it as completely unfair if she didn’t know that people like herself, Argonui, or the Hobbits existed.

Elrond chuckled and herded her into the room. “I see. Dwarves have a low center of balance; I do believe it quite difficult for your kind to tumble easily.” Maggie snorted loudly with a flash of memories back to her first days; the days were her body was new and unfamiliar. If only he understood that part of her struggle. Her bulky body shuddered as a wave of heat hit her and passed over her face and shoulders. The room they had entered was warmed by a low fire at the front of the seated space, another Elf bent over his desk, surrounded by neatly piled books and scrolls. The walls were covered in murals and artwork of a history she was unaware of and short shelves framed the floor.

“ _Good morning_ , Thannor.” Elrond greeted kindly. The language rolled off his tongue like a waterfall and Maggie frowned at herself for such poetic thoughts. “I have a new guest and student for you, my good friend.” Maggie’s back, as it had done on her first arrival to Rivendell, straightened from the small space of her back up to her shoulders as the Elf Thannor gazed upon her. The Elf was unlike his kin at first glance. He stood as tall as Elrond, and thus taller than her, but his eyes were dark and deep, with soot colored hair that cascaded down his back and shoulders.

“G-good morning.” Maggie winced at her horrible stutter. Thannor approached like a thudding stone. His steps were slow and deliberate, his body a misshapen cage of muscle. She blinked and an embarrassed flush swallowed her ears. He was limping, she could see it, and one shoulder looked bitten and scarred, his arm a careful weight against his side as the other swung freely. She swallowed nervously and inclined her head as he came within arm’s reach. His muddy gaze searched her and Maggie did her best to stay frozen to her spot. A terror ran through her and a maddening thought of ‘why leave me here with this?’ threw itself against her skull toward Elrond.

“The dwarfling.” Thannor’s voice rumbled from his throat like a disappointed hammering. Maggie ducked her head instinctively and wondered what from this Elf startled her so much. The rest of him was much like the other Elves she had seen, long and pale and striking; but Thannor’s visage hit like the warning of thunder. ‘ _I wonder if that’s what his name means?_ ’ She swallowed again to keep her words to herself.

“A dwarrowdam.” Elrond corrected. The Lord of the Home seemed less inclined to believe her a child, but Maggie assumed that was more from his knowledge of her past than the age of her body. Another swift look struck her from Thannor and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop a shiver of surprise. A glint focused in his gaze and he nodded.

“Of course. It is difficult to tell them apart, you understand.” Thannor groused. Maggie’s throat tightened with indignation and her neck snapped to bring a narrowed gaze to Thannor’s face, unamused.

“Then you should ask _her_ , as she stands in front of you.” Maggie harped. She expected a reprimand, really. These Elves, for all their manners, treated any slight against them as offensive even when it was deserved. Instead of a twisted frown of his brow, she got a smirk. The heat from her ears flooded her face, but her chin stayed up and her gaze steady. Maggie would have to practice staring at them; it was starting to get ridiculous that their splendor would strangle her words.

“Oh, so you do have a spine?” Thannor rumbled in what sounded like a good-natured tone. Maggie stiffened with indecision and pursed her lips as Thannor stepped away to allow her some ease of gazing up at his face. “I had heard word of your presence, and you seemed much livelier than this.” Elrond shifted and her back tingled as she knew the Elf was going to defend her silence, but God be damned, she was not going to be poked like a pig. Honesty, she found, was the best stopper.

“I walked into a room with a thundercloud,” Maggie snapped with a glare in his direction, she could feel Elrond stiffen beside her at her sudden words, “And me with no coat.” The beat of silence that pressed against her ears was deafening and it was broken by a hissing laugh from Thannor. Maggie relaxed alongside Elrond and she shot a glance to the Elven Lord, wondering briefly why _he_ had gone stiff in the knees.

“She has a sharp tongue on her. It is to be expected of her kin.” Thannor chuckled deeply.

Elrond sighed with a glance ticked toward Maggie; she swiftly looked away. “No, my friend, I believe it might just be her disposition.”

“She seems a friendly thing. Here, sit, and we shall begin by assessing your knowledge. Thank you, my Lord; I will see that she makes it to the afternoon meal and dinner.” Thannor added with a bow. Elrond tipped his chin and with an adjustment of his long sleeves, he bid Maggie a fond farewell and left her in the shadow of her tutor. She watched until the wooden door was shut behind him and then turned a wary gaze to Thannor. The Elf smirked.

‘ _Ah, crap._ ’

…

Thannor was a military man. He hadn’t said that much to her, but she could see it once her nerves had settled under her skin. They spent most of the morning with him circling her, hovering over her shoulder, or sitting beside her as she wrote what limited vocabulary she knew of Westron and the letters that were considered their alphabet.  He walked with starch in his bones (excluding the dull arm) and spoke only when needed, with what was needed. Thannor was never wasteful or inefficient, unlike his brethren who flowed like water and laughing willows, Thannor always, always moved like a rolling cloud, storming in his personal bubble.

Throughout the morning, she could see a raised eyebrow from surprise, a hum in concentration or a tsk of disappointment. Her language was firm, vocally, but her understanding of it in physical, written form was crap. She was given a clean slab of thin stone and a piece of charcoal to doodle with, as Thannor had mentioned that parchment (what she knew as paper, and not the cooking material) was expensive to make. Thus, he had informed her, wasting it on a low-skilled, ill-worded Dwarf was out of the question.

She nearly kicked him in the shin for that comment, but the day continued onward.

On and off she debated informing Thannor of her primary language, or rather, the secondary one. English had turned into a cherished and harshly guarded treasure for her, a rare thing that slipped over her tongue on occasion. Elrond had taken to her story well enough, but Thannor knew nothing of her past or why she had been brought to Rivendell in the first place. Surely he knew of her circumstances, lost and alone, cared and housed by Hobbits, due to the simple fact that Elves were horrible gossips and what Enelya knew, the world knew.

“You have drifted again.” Thannor’s slender, pale finger tapped the thin stone slab in her hands. Reflexively, Maggie tightened her grip and glanced up at the looming figure. Her teeth clenched and a muscle jumped at the back of her jaw. Thannor’s stormy face frowned. “You have become lost in your thoughts thrice now. I ask you; what troubles you?”

“Nothing.” Maggie replied automatically. Thannor’s eyebrow rose in disbelief and she blew up in a long exhale. “I… There is something. I want to share, but not. Do not say typical of Dwarves, I know this.” She glared at him swiftly once his mouth moved to speak. He clipped it shut with a smirk and she hated how handsome he looked with it.

“Then think of it this way. What is the danger of sharing? What do you gain from it?” Thannor prodded quietly. Her gaze followed up from his knees, over his torso, and to his face once more. He was everything and nothing like his people, a battering ram that was hammered back together with missing pieces. Her mouth shifted and she sighed. The danger of it was insignificant. The Elves already thought her a lunatic, her mannerisms and disposition long since having shot past their understanding of Dwarves. To share this one other thing, this language she had and no one else knew, could or would be seen as another part of her lunacy. English was something that marked her indefinitely.

But she could gain a friend. Her eyes took a rest on Thannor’s jagged face, scarred from old battles and worries. Enelya was someone Maggie had gained through sympathy, the She-Elf had taken it as a personal responsibility to help “raise” Margaret in some way, and so there was already a barrier that was forming there. Thannor, on the other hand, was driven by knowledge and curiosity. She could only wonder at his age, but to retain such a motivation for all this time was something powerful. She hesitated for a few heartbeats more before she wiped at her slab, erasing the vocabulary they were practicing and started to write the English alphabet. Like a strike of lightning, Thannor was over her shoulder in seconds, dark eyes narrowed and inspective. Maggie leaned over slightly to keep her shoulder from jabbing into his ribs.

“This is my language.” Maggie murmured truthfully and trained her eyes on the slab, away from Thannor’s questioning gaze. “I… come from far away. Lost. Khuzdul and Westron are not known.” Thannor leaned away from her seat and when he did, Maggie exhaled in relief from a breath she was unaware of holding. She had gotten through all twenty-six letters before he spoke with a neutrality that scared her.

“The Lord Elrond knows of this?” Thannor asked with rigid shoulders.

Maggie nodded, and then shrugged in after-thought. “He knows of _me_ and… what happened. He knows of this,” she tapped her index and middle fingers against the slab, “but he does not know how to read or write. Only me.”

Thannor appeared before her desk, coiled like a snake, brow sharp and eyes sharper. “Only you…? Not your kin? Not the Dwarves?” Maggie deflated slightly, though she was unsure if it was from relief or disappointment. ‘ _Of course. How often do they get anything from the Dwarves? He must’ve thought it was another secret language._ ’ Maggie snorted and glanced at Thannor tiredly, ‘ _Boy oh boy, if you knew about coding, buddy._ ’

“Only me. No Dwarves.” She gave him another shrug. “I am strange that way. Different.”

“Unique.” Thannor added. He nodded and gently pulled the slab out from under her arm. She let it go with a tremble; an abrupt shudder of regret took her stomach as she watched it go. Maybe this was wrong? Maybe it was too soon, too sudden, to introduce such a thing to an Elf she didn’t know? Thannor’s gaze flickered over the slab and he traced the letters with his eyes.

“Can you repeat this?” Thannor asked slowly. Confused, Maggie blinked up at him with a frown. Thannor turned the slab toward her, her hasty handwriting a spit on the stone. “These letters, they form words or are they merely symbols?”

“They’re words.” She answered readily, her first language fluttered from her tongue with ease. “Symbols we use for words, actually.” Though judging from his confusion, none of them made sense. It was what Westron had been for her, a jumble of noises and symbols with no consistency or coherency. She cleared her throat and waited. Thannor glanced between her and the slab with a hum low in his throat.

“Interesting. Perhaps, once your knowledge of the appropriate languages here is established, I shall have you… teach me.” Maggie chortled at his hesitation, noting that he found the idea somewhat irksome to be taught by a Dwarf. Maggie nodded with a smile, and relented to his practice for the rest of the afternoon.

…

She was studious; Thannor would concede that point to her. When he had first been told of the creature to be placed under his instruction, he had argued against it. Elrond knew as well as any how stubborn and cumbersome Dwarves could be, particularly so when being taught a craft or trade that was foreign to them. She would fight back and be a nuisance rather than a student, he had disputed, but Lord Elrond had remained resolute in his decision.

He persisted in his belief up until she had walked through his door and opened her mouth. The malice was absent; there was no heat in her words and only sharp sarcasm. It had been different from her lips than from others of her kind that he had encountered. She meant no harm and her words only rose from her throat to defend _herself_ rather than attack him for a slight. He thought, perhaps, it was the presence of the Lord of the Home that stayed her tongue, but that she was swift to prove wrong. It was with great surprised that when he handed the slab to her and the charcoal, the confusion on her face was not one of indignation, but honest, child-like ignorance.

_Parchment_ , of all things she could have asked for that was not one of them. The sour look she had delivered was colored with shame and no bitterness. He continued to expect it long into the morning, the bite of gnashing teeth, the slice of a bitter tongue, or the slap of a righteous fury. Her kin were volatile in the company of Elves and spared no expense to step out of their path and collide into one of the First Children. And yet, here she continued, quiet and thoughtful with the occasional tangent into her wayward thoughts.

Then, the small deviance into her mind, the thoughts that clouded her study, she shared with only the briefest of indecisions. She was quiet and respectful, humoring his curiosity with a distinct twinge of nervous fear that she smothered with relief at his acknowledgement. He understood with clarity what his Lord had stated of the young dwarrowdam. There was no vendetta in her soul, no want or need for vengeance, there was only confusion and anxiety. The afternoon had come upon them swiftly and announcing their departure from the room for midday’s meal drew a gusty exhale from her.

She popped away from the desk and bounced on her heels eagerly, peering at him with wide and expectant eyes. Confused, Thannor placed down the book he read to her and tilted his chin warily, “Yes, Margaret?”

“It’s Maggie.” Her broken accent roughened her words. “Are we going to midday meal now?”

“We?” Thannor asked, just as confused as he had been before. Maggie matched his blink with a heavy one from herself, and she clipped her head in a nod with a faint frown at the corner of her mouth. “You are expecting me to go with you?”

“Do you not eat?” Maggie huffed with her hands placed upon her hips. “I thought we were going to continue after?”

“We are,” Thannor attempted to follow her scattered process of deduction, “You were to return here after your meal to continue.” The situation became a tad more ridiculous to him as the young Dwarf seem to _deflate_ at his words. He took a cautious step toward her with his fingers gestured toward the door. “You… do not want to eat alone?"

There, he could see it, the reluctance he had seen in her before. Shy and careful as she weighed her words and pressed them against her lips. He frowned with a quiet sigh and took another step, his hip coming to a corner of her desk. “If you would prefer it… I can offer you my company.”

“Only if you want to go.” Maggie snapped hurriedly. There was no venom in her words, but the embarrassment engulfed her face in a red flush that dipped into her slim beard. “I do not want to be a burden, I only thought…” Her voice had gotten smaller toward the end and Thannor felt his resistance thaw. She was lonely.

“I would be honored to accompany you, my lady.” He answered with a gentle smile and a bow of his head. A toothy grin flashed up at him, her face still red from earlier, and she turned to lead them toward the door. He followed at a slower pace with a momentary glance at the slab she worked with, and noted the length of her practice. It seemed she tried harder than he expected when she listened.

“Is it customary to eat with someone, when you were living with the Hobbits?” She held the door open for him as he walked through and did not release it as he expected until his heels were well passed the door. She nodded as she came up beside him, her hurried strides unmentioned as she attempted to keep pace with him.

“Yes. It’s very rude to have a meal and not invite the household in.” She answered with a smile. He knew not whether she continued to trot beside him out of pride or ignorance, but Thannor slowed his pace and shortened his strides. She was less breathless with her following words.

“Though, Elves only seem to eat two or three times a day. Hobbits eat seven or eight times.” Her heavy brow furrowed over her eyes and Thannor jerked his head to one side, to focus on his shorter companion.

“So much? Are the small meals?” Thannor asked, worried over the answer. Her harsh snort and barking laughter was all the answer he needed, and he added, “Where does all the food come from?”

“The larder, mostly.” Margaret snickered. “It’s almost always full. Bella goes to the market every day, or did, before she had Bilbo. Now it’s Bungo’s duty.” A fondness crept into her words at the mention of her adoptive family. A deep seeded love remained for the young Dwarf, one that Thannor knew would not wane. Dwarves lived long, though not as long as Elves, and loved as deep as the roots of their mountains. It was rare to see it first-hand.

“You spent most of the morning with me. Were you hungry?” He hadn’t known if she had eaten before Lord Elrond turned her over to him, and she had said not a word of complaint throughout their long hours of study. Maggie shook her head and scratched at the long scars on the side of her face.

“No. I do not eat that much. I eat half of what they do every other meal, I think.” It was still quite a bit by what Thannor could gather. Several meals a day, at large quantities and she only ate half at every other meal? It was considerably more than what an Elf could or would eat in a day.

“It sounds daunting.” Thannor swiftly continued with the conversation. “For a family of two Hobbits and a young Dwarf. What was your normal meal?”

“Whatever was in the market yesterday.” Margaret answered as they took a turn down the hall toward the common area. “Bella always… wait. She gave me the word.” Her face was pinched as she pondered and Thannor was quiet in his patience. She would not learn if she did not think for herself nor would she learn if she never asked for help.

“Rotate!” The Dwarf cheered with a grin. “Bella always rotated the larder with fresh meats. Cheeses and pickled things stayed until they were needed. Or I snuck in and ate them.” She laughed with another scratch at her scar. He grew evermore curious about the small disfigurement, but she had not asked about his shoulder and he had silent agreed to keep his peace.

“Just meats and pickled things, then?” Thannor prodded. Dwarves, or what few they had as visitors over the years, preferred the meatier meals and scoffed at the greenery that the Elves offered throughout the course.

Margaret shook her head. “I like vegetables. Cucumbers and onions the most. I like soups. Bella some days would give me a handful of them to keep me quiet.” The sounds of the common area came up quickly as the arched opening was soon in view. A few tables were covered in light items, small breads and salads, a pot of soup, and some sweetmeats at one far end. Margaret waited next to him by the entrance and he glanced down at her, curious.

“After you!” She chirruped. Stunned by her enthusiasm, Thannor nodded gently and stepped forward to serve himself a plate. She followed happily, chattering about the continuous meals that were tradition in the Shire. He listened as best he could to her rapid-fire and broken sentences, and at the end of the table, he was caught by a stare.

His Lord Elrond sat at the end of the eatery, with Gandalf to one side, and the small smile that touched Lord Elrond’s lips was more than words could possibly say. Thannor sighed, but stayed with his small companion as she led them to a table, to eat together.

Thannor hated being wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU, thank you, thank you! So much for all those who continued to leave kudos, comments, and messages! I'm so overwhelmed by the care and love you seem to have for this story, and I hope this chapter was worth the wait!


	12. Ambisinister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my lord. Why. Whhhhhy did this take me so long? Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU -- to all the people who continued to review, leave notes, or just drop a kudo. I didn't forget you, and here is your reward for your patience!

**January 2891 T.A.**

The next following weeks were a bit rough for Maggie. Waking up every morning bright and early was a pain in the ass. She was accustomed to the habits of Hobbits, from waking not quite so early in the morning, starting chores, and then leaving the rest of the day up to fate and whatever food happened to be found (suffice to say she had become quite lazy despite the lack of any 21st century accommodations). With the elves, though, she was up at just before the crack of dawn, washed, dressed, and thrown into Thannor's teaching room once the sun winked over the horizon.

Thannor gave no concessions to her lack of knowledge on elven routine or the fact that she yawned through the first half of his lessons. Maggie was acutely aware of one or two sour glances sent her way. He kept her busy through the morning, working her brain and twisting her tongue over her words and pronunciations. They poured over his personal works on the study of the language and Maggie felt herself gag from time to time with the guttural noises that stuck to the roof of her mouth and clogged her nose.

Even so, muttering angrily in broken Khuzdul had a certain hilarity to it that pacified her frustrations. Plus, the utter look of _why_ that crossed Thannor's face was a reward well worth her embarrassing attempts. Aside from her mornings, the lord of the home had seen a need to advance her skills and so thus had scheduled her with nearly all of the artisans and masters within the homestead to find what best suited her. All in the name of education, of course.

Painting was out of the question. Her first attempt with her hands was laughable. To her, at least, but the elves around her had been painfully polite and 'hum'ed and 'ahh'ed appropriately but she knew better. Nope, paints and painting was not in her future. From there on she had been sent to weaving. Not as bad as her attempt at paints as she had no trouble thinking up designs and patterns, but _executing them_. That is where she fumbled. Using a loom was nothing like using a sewing machine (and even that was a nightmare) and so most of her time there had been spent giving the elves ideas on what patterns would look interesting.

All taken in good humor, of course, because she was still a dwarf, and so many of her design ideas were vastly ignored. It was another heavy sting to remind her that despite how generous they _could_ be at being sociable with _her_ , it wasn't always in their best interests to incorporate her into their lifestyles. Point painfully taken, she huffed.

Gardening was fine, but not where she was wanted. She was too huge footed and flat paced to be of any use in a swift and well-organized garden. Not that the Hobbits were willy-nilly with their gardening (nearly half the neighbors would be puffed to the cheeks with the offense) but they weren't as structured or as organized as the elven garden. Oh sure, she realized that they didn't play with the land as much as a Hobbit did, didn't use pots or fences, or much else of the sort to _create_ a farm or garden, as nature abhorred a straight line, but there was still enough of a _touch_ that made it unnatural and even.

And huge. They were cheating, she could feel it. Beyond the actual act of gardening, though, she could help with the lifting. Here she was unafraid of her strength and applied it liberally. Elven structures and works looked delicate to the untrained eye like hers and were easily assumed to be fragile. Not so, she found out readily, as baskets of thinly woven straws and cloth were thrust into her hands that bulged with vegetables and nearly popped from her arms as she held them. A glorified pack mule was Maggie, but it was something to do and it allowed her to better memorize the lay of the homestead without a suspicious gaze following her.

The biggest embarrassment came with the blacksmith and his forge. The elf in question was spidery and quick-eyed and barely spoke more than a handful of words to her in any given breath. He had an immense amount of patience for his craft and treated it with the utmost care as one would a child, but he had a miniscule amount of care for Maggie. She barely learned a thing as she was immediately sat to one side and told to watch and stay out from underfoot. She mouthed his words as he spoke in Sindarin, memorizing what she could to take back to Thannor for a translation. _Forge. Smith. Metal. Fire._ Those were easy enough to deduce, but things like _bellows, tempering, chisel, clamp_ and _anvil_ threw her for a loop.

They also threw Thannor for a loop and Maggie ended up laughing herself to tears with the poor game of charades between them in an attempt to discern each other's words.

The only thing that seemed to click was pottery. Six weeks into her stay with the elves and the rotation she had been placed on to find a skill set that would suit her, it finally came sailing home. _Pottery_ , of all things, was the furthest thing from her mind when she imagined herself with a trade to market (not that she would, she would never think in a thousand years she would have anything good enough to sell), but it _clicked._ They had set her up with a flat, round table that spun, something she only learned when she leaned on it to heave herself into her seat and promptly tumbled off when the table turned. Choked and muffle laughter echoed around Maggie and her face flared with heat across her cheeks after she sat back in her seat securely. Darfin, the elf who ran the pottery workshop, was kind and gentle and painfully soft-spoken. His hands were perpetually stained with browns and reds, his elbows flicked with faint paint strokes from his decorating, and a ghostly smile was permanently home upon his face.

He rarely left Maggie's side the first few days after her lessons with Thannor. The other elves knew their way around the workshop and supplied themselves, but Darfin would help Maggie with preparing her clay, putting her through an ungodly amount of attempts to smack the clay onto the spinning table, and would sit next to her and murmur words of advice as she worked. Maggie would have been unnerved by the constant attention laid upon her by the quiet elf, but he was about as intrusive as a breeze and usually stayed just out of her line of sight to allow her to work with no distractions. She appreciated it greatly, because aside from Thannor, he was the only other elf that treated her like she had a brain and could use it.

Her first pot she could produce with any sort of acceptable shape came two weeks after, and she held it up proudly to a blinking Thannor.

"It's a pot, Margaret," said Thannor once he glanced at it and looked around to her.

"It's a present, Thannor." She replied waspishly. "I'm giving it to you. My very first pot."

"Again, but in Sindarin this time." He murmured. Maggie sighed, Thannor was never one to do things simply, and she muttered her words again in her broken tongue. Only once she had did the thundercloud elf reach out with crooked fingers to take the pot by its handle. It was small, barely bigger than both her hands put together, and wouldn't hold much more than a single cup of water or perhaps a small flower and painted a deep red and brown to match the hearth of his room. Thannor's dark eyes inspected the pot critically, much as he did when he checked her handwriting, and turned it over gently. Maggie's throat bobbed with the press of her heart up against the underside of her tongue as she waited.

"Passable." Thannor muttered begrudgingly. Maggie beamed to the point of dimples. Praise was rarely given from the storm that was Thannor, but even a 'passable' was the short version of a long winded 'you did better than I expected.' Insult wasn't Thannor's game and Maggie allowed herself to bounce on her heels with her hands braced on the surface of his work desk. She was every inch a child home from grade school with a misshapen project as a headpiece.

"Darfin said I can move on to something bigger next week, like an actual watering pot or maybe a vase." Maggie chirruped happily. It had been a long time, ever since she had fallen stomach first into her new world, that she had felt this competent. The Hobbits had spent an unhealthy length of time trying to teach a young adult to read and speak again, and the chores she had been trusted to do were few and far in between. Making a pot, a useful item that could be a tool or a decoration, could be _sold_ if she so dared, was vastly different from doing laundry or dishes or cleaning.

"Again, Margaret, in Khuzdul." Thannor commanded. Maggie groaned loudly and dropped her forehead heavily on his desk. She completely missed the smirk that touched his lips and its disappearance as soon as she came back up for air, growling the words gutturally through her nose. Thannor gingerly placed the pot on one far corner of his desk and stared at it for a long moment. Maggie fidgeted and wondered with a glance between it and her mentor. Finally, either he had pieced together his thoughts or believed her tormented enough, he reached over and deftly placed a pair of writing quills in the pot.

Maggie's grin practically split her face.

The month known as March came upon her swiftly. It was announced by the unearthly sound of hundreds of swarming bees that were scattered into the trees around the budding garden. Maggie, not knowing if her allergies had transferred over as well, deftly kept her distance and threw herself into the depths of the pottery workshop for those dreadful weeks. Darfin allowed her to work by the kiln and firing the pots to maturity. It left her glowing at the end of the day, bouncing and running along the halls at sunset to get to Thannor's room before bedtime and show him whatever small creation she had, or whatever new words she had learned.

"She's become rather fond of you, I see." Elrond's study was quiet as the night grew. The hearth silenced due to the warmer weather and the light of the sun had faded to give way to twilight. Thannor sat back on a high backed chair, legs akimbo and his good arm thrown up to steady his tilted head.

"Would we be so bold as to use that word? Fond? She's still a dwarf." Thannor countered with rusty words.

"You believe that no more than you could believe she is truly malicious. She's curious, thoughtful, and before you, lonely." Elrond added. His gaze remained down on his work, a tattered book from the depths of an expedition, gently being restored.

"She has Enelya." Thannor grumbled and his long legs shifted.

"Enelya treats her like a child." Elrond smoothly rebutted. "She is not incorrect, but Maggie is well beyond infancy and prefers to be treated as such." Another page turned, softly cradled to one side and smoothed out to be wetted with a light resin. "Do you mean to tell me after all these months, she remains the same dwarf to you?"

"She will always be the same creature to me, her physiology does not change." Thannor sighed and rubbed his temple. "... She's not what any of us expected. I cannot yet tell if this is good or bad. Does this work in her favor, because we shall treat her with... a different level of respect? Or worse, because if she returns to her people, she will be ostracized."

"She is a crafty mind." Elrond responded with a short glance up. "And at this moment, Margaret as made it clear she will not be returning to the folds of her kin."

"She cannot avoid them forever." Thannor answered blithely. "It would be foolish of her to think she could. Why else would we bother teaching her Khuzdul? Or a basic understanding of it, at the very least."

At his words, Elrond paused and a thoughtful twitch of his lips touched his otherwise passive face. Thannor caught the look and tilted his head curiously. He shifted in his chair and sat the smallest amount straighter in his chair.

"She's a touch more different than one would think, isn't she?" Thannor murmured. His long legs moved to tuck in closer. "She would not say more than to admit she is not from here, but as to where she spawned from, that is anyone's guess."

"She is a unique case. One that Mithrandir and I decided would be best to study here." Another page was turned in Elrond's hands and Thannor's gaze dropped to it for a brief moment. "Just before the end of fall, she shall return to the Shire. By her request." Elrond added the last firmly as Thannor's face shifted in protest.

"She will forget most of what she has learned." Thannor would not pout, but his mouth hardened nonetheless. "Four or five months to retain the information and then two or three to go without using it?"

"Doubtful." Elrond replied quietly. He frowned at a page and a gentle finger pressed out a wrinkle. "Maggie is clever, as I've stated. She shall use her knowledge to her advantage. From what I have heard of her life in the Shire, she is overtly attached to the youngest of her adoptive family."

Thannor's nostrils flared. "I will have to make her aware that sharing Khuzdul outside of her people is punishable."

"So should you, until she is better acquainted with her kin, it is best to save her what torment we can." The Lord responded readily. The book in his hand finally split down to its spine as Elrond reached the middle. He looked up to Thannor and watched as the master straightened in his chair. "There is still much to teach her. I believe she plans to return here regularly."

"Yearly, you mean to say." Thannor stated, the determination upon his student's face flashing through his mind. "I feel she would be quite cross with us if we abandoned her now."

Elrond smiled softly. "Aye. For a dwarf, I am quite surprised she attaches herself so quickly to others. Perhaps she shall start a new movement of friendship between our people."

"I would not bet on that quite so soon." Thannor laughed as he relaxed back in his chair. "She is a monster with the twins, though they do not openly taunt her, she is swift to retaliate for any slight."

"So I have heard." Elrond answered fondly. "My sons had come not two nights before covered in mud and dripping wet."

Thannor smirked. "An accident, she claims, they startled her while in the garden with Odelia."

Elrond chuckled. "Unfortunately for them, I am inclined to believe her more than not. I am not blind to the terror that my children inflicted upon the household, guests or otherwise."

"Heh." Thannor straightened in his chair for a brief moment, his back giving a slight pop and his lame arm shifting to his lap. He sighed and rubbed at his temple to avoid the silence that fell between him and his lord. After a few beats of nothingness, he relented and looked to find Lord Elrond watching him intently.

"I will watch out for her." Thannor promised, surprised at his determination. "I will see to it that she is prepared for the world, whether she wishes to be a part of it or not."

"This is all I ask for, my dear friend." Elrond accepted with a minute bow of his head. Thannor sighed heavily once more and stood from his chair, the ache of his years suddenly bundled at the small of his back and between his shoulders. So much to do and so little time to accomplish it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Voice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9451826) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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